#and he didn’t even realize he was in danger

[tonycries]

Sweetheart Online - G.S.

Synopsis. Isekai-ed into another world, or isekai-ed into your pants?! Gojo Satoru is in danger - in danger of losing his prized, otaku vírginíty, that is.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, otaku! Gojo, isekai, vírgínity loss (Gojo), chokíng, use of “ma’am”, PÚSSYDRÚNK GOJO, begging, nerdy babbling, Gojo wears glasses, cúmming dry, first times, oraI (f + m), face-sítting, cúmming early, spítting, creampíes, cúmplay, p talking, cúmming in his pants, he goes féral, otaku vocab, truck-kun, anime nosebIeeds, Gojo is a LOSER, and so down bad for you, pet names, swearíng.

Word count. 8.8k

A/N. IT’S HEREEEEE-

“Har har. hilarious, Suguru-”

“You know m’not joking, Satoru.” Geto’s taking an infuriatingly long slurp! of his ramen from the other end of the line, and Gojo’s known the man long enough to realize that he’s doing it solely to irritate him. That bastard. “You’re a loser.”

Ah, he’s never wanted to throttle him more. 

Because- listen, Gojo Satoru might be many things. 

He might be the proud president of the campus otaku club, rumored to have never even held hands with a woman his entire life. Complete defamation, of course, Gojo has held hands with his mother as a child. Though…she might be the only one. 

He might be the most annoying tenant at his cramped Tokyo apartment, every inch of it covered with enough of your pretty figurines that he’s taken to sleeping on the couch recently. But you deserved only the best!

And he might currently be the sketchiest man trudging down the streets of Shibuya at 3AM; with a brand-spanking new, life-sized body pillow of you tucked safely underneath one arm.

But that didn’t mean Gojo was a loser. Probably. 

So what if he got strange looks from every unfortunate normie soul he happened to pass? It was limited edition, and he waited eight hours in line for it!

After all, a man with such a prized possession could surely and undoubtedly never be a-

“-oi- oi!” Self-proclaimed best friend, and universally-proclaimed pain in Gojo’s ass grumbles into the phone. 

Snapping out of his reverie, Gojo’s registering that he’s already at that familiar flickering stoplight. Fingers curling even tighter in their tender hold around your form, he saunters down the barren crossing. 

He needed to get home - and he needed to get home fast! A man needs quality time with his wife, after all. 

“Don’t tell me you fainted from her ah- what was it- ‘sheer beauty and unparalleled sex appeal’ again?”

“That was one time and you know it.” He’s hissing into the speaker- honestly, Geto’s probably just cranky that he didn’t get his grubby hands on one of these before he did - Gojo’s seen the other man’s plushie collection of you no matter how much he tries to hide it. “This time, I only got weak in the knees.”

There’s a snickering drawl, “Oh yeah? What wondrous self-control, o’ maestro of virgins.”

And the title is so utterly ridiculous that Gojo finds himself stuttering into a shocked stop right in the middle of the gloomy asphalt. A laugh bubbling up in his throat before he remembers that that particularly sweet nickname was directed at him. 

“You’re a virgin too!”

Scoffing, “Yeah, but I don’t act like it. You, on the other hand, are famed for having your first kiss with the common room tv the moment you first saw that video game character. People were making bets on whether you were going to die a virgin, Satoru. Hell- I bet, too!”

Dammit, when you put it like that it makes Geto sound downright respectable. 

“Actually, she’s more than a video game character, Sugu—” Times like this, he’s letting his words simper out into a whine. Full and well knowing how much it’ll grate against Geto’s eardrums - hah, take that ramen ASMR! Smugly, Gojo pushes up his thickly-rimmed glasses, “She’s the revered princess of a distant land, first in line to rule over the throne with a gentle yet firm hand. Scouring the seas for the perfect consort that will-”

“Are you quoting her Wikipedia-”

“I wrote her Wikipedia.” Gojo huffs indignantly, as if anyone could ever assume anything less. “Because to me, she’s- she’s…”

And, truly, nothing he recited with MLA citations could ever describe you.

Because if there’s one thing that Geto was right about, it’s the fact that Gojo’s been completely and utterly head-over-heels for you ever since he first glimpsed an ad for Sweetheart Online - the hottest, filthiest romance game to hit the industry in the last few years. Maybe ever. 

With one love interest - as if he needed any other - you, and your hand in marriage that Gojo had fought rival after unworthy rival to win 143 times already.

He finds himself wracking his brain for any word in the existing lexicon to describe the perfection that is you. Though, it seems that he doesn’t have to think too hard at all. 

Because before he can even imagine letting the first few syllables formulate on his tongue, there’s a deafening-

HONK!

Gojo turns, only to see the glaringly white headlights of a truck hurtling towards him at full-speed. 

And the first thing he thinks is oh, it kind of looks like the spotlight that dazzles on you 1 minute and 24 seconds into the game’s Coronation Event. The second thing he thinks is…fuck.

.

.

.

“-highness—looks rabid!”

“—that’s rude, but…”

“-oh dear, put your sword down, Itadori.”

Gojo takes a few bleary seconds to pat himself mentally on the back for deducing that he’s died and made his way to heaven. Honestly, it doesn’t matter what Yaga says - he really is a genius sometimes.

What else could the delicate paintings of cupids and clouds on the staggeringly tall ceiling abovehead mean? He didn’t think that the heavens above had a fancy for Baroque - but who was he to judge? 

Certainly not when it seemed like he was sprawled out on a painfully decadent bed. Sifting among layers and layers of delicate silk that almost swallowed him whole - oh, it was fit enough for his figurine collection of you. 

A sharp crick shoots along Gojo’s neck when he turns his eyes towards what seemed like a towering window, wincing at the large glowing ball of light washing warmly over him. If he squinted his eyes it almost looked like…the sun?

Surely, he wasn’t a ghost then.

It hadn’t even been daybreak once that semi-truck had run him over, and even if he was to haunt anyone then it would be to bug Geto into plastering his collection of your posters all over his gravestone. 

And the final piece of celestial evidence being a soft, soothing tone ringing in his ears and already becoming his favorite new song. Coming from the mouth of an angel peering down at him who looked - lo and behold - like your very spitting image. 

“Oh…” It comes out in a hoarse, scratchy gasp. All the air knocking out of his poor lungs once you inch in mere centimeters closer to his glassy view. He can’t help but reach up a trembly hand, “You’re even more beautiful in 3D.”

SMACK!

Gojo flinches when his hand gets knocked away unceremoniously by someone else’s- there were other people here? “You dare attempt to touch the princess? After revealing yourself in her chambers? I should call the guards right now-”

Now, he didn’t know much about the afterlife, but he was sure that demons weren’t allowed in heaven.

“It’s quite alright, Nobara.” The angel speaks up, and oh, it’s not even his name being said but Gojo already feels his heart leap a little and suddenly wishes it was. “Judging by the state of his clothes it seems he’s not from these parts. Maybe he’s lost?”

Gentle hands are suddenly bestowed upon his to softly pull him up, and before he can open his mouth to undoubtedly blurt out something stupid, there’s a ringing PING!

Jumping just about a foot off the bed, he’s scrambling to stand as a strangely robotic voice speaks from somewhere overhead, “Milestone: Touch a Girl reached. System activation successful! Congratulations, user [Satorulovesprincess]. Welcome to Sweetheart Online.”

If the group in front of him heard anything, then they didn’t show a sign. 

Very much the opposite of a thoroughly panicked Gojo, flailing his head towards the source of the noise until his eyes meet a holographic screen hovering just a few inches over his head.

As if something pulled right out of one of Geto’s favorite trashy sci-fi films - fuck being in heaven, he was probably still on those Shibuya streets hallucinating and causing an incident.. 

Gojo treks down a hand to pinch his forearm, just a little harder than necessary when the voice booms once more-

“Quite ingenious, user [Satorulovesprincess]. However, we assure you that what you are seeing is real.” The screen displays those exact words in time. “You have initiated the execution of the system, and are now bound to Sweetheart Online.”

“System- Sweetheart Online-” Great, he’s going mad. Running his hands through tousled locks of cloudy white, “Don’t tell me…don’t tell me this is like one of those shitty isekai anime.”

Oh god it all made sense - the truck, the system, the truck. And Gojo’s watched much more than enough cliché isekai anime with the otaku club to realize. 

But…a truck? Seriously? That’s embarrassingly overused. 

It’s like a pit of ice forms at the bottom of his stomach. He bet that no one but him could see the glaring screen right now. A fact he was especially glad for once the following words roll out-

“Following your sudden and extremely inexperienced death, Mission: No-Longer-Virgin has already started.”

Whispering to himself, “So this is where virgins go after death. Some sort of purgatory perhaps in which the last wishes of the virgin are materialized- although that doesn’t explain the presence of- wait-”

“Good luck, user: [Satorulovesprincess]. May your virginity collapse, and your sex life prosper!”

If Gojo didn’t know any better, he’d have sworn that the disjointed voice sounded amused. 

But wait- no, it wanted Gojo to lose his virginity? His long-held, precious, maiden virginity? After twenty-something years, how crude that this ah- mission marrs his delicate body. Did the system think that he was some sort of harlot to-

“Are…are you okay, strange sir?”

Okay, maybe losing his virginity wasn’t all that bad.

Turning back around slowly, “I uh…”

And this wasn’t quite how Gojo imagined meeting you - glasses askew, hair rumpled, in the very same ratty hoodie and sweatpants he’d camped outside the anime store in - hell, he never thought he’d meet you in general. 

But then you smile, and Gojo falls onto his knees. Right then and there on the polished floor.

You were exactly as he’d seen on-screen. Brows quirking upwards just a slight cheeky degree the same way it did whenever his in-game avatar said something particularly smooth. Gorgeous. The silken skirts of your ball gown looking oh-so-soft to the touch but not as soft as you-

“Your highness, on top of being a madman, he drools at the sight of you!” A younger girl shrieks - Nobara Kugisaki, your trusty attendant, he remembers. Hastily wiping his lips, “Kindly consider having his skull impaled.”

There was nothing kindly about having his skull impaled, and Gojo’s already clutching his head when you chuckle. “Your name?”

Ah, he’s forgotten how to speak. Forgotten how to breathe. “G-Gojo Satoru- my princess- your highness.”

“Apologies, I’m not sure what foreign ambassador you are, but I do welcome you kindly to our kingdom.” You’re letting your eyes roam all over his still-kneeled body, and in them glittered something…dark. 

Sliding over your hand and oh! Gojo remembers this.

He’s drinking in that delicate floral scent of yours, dragging his plump mouth to meet the back of your hand in a lingering kiss. The very moment his lips touch you, Gojo feels lightheaded.

And only after pulling away does he realize exactly why-

“Ah! He’s bleeding!” The young man - your loyal knight, Itadori - yelps, and Gojo’s clapping over the warm wetness smearing over his lower face. A nosebleed? Really? Just from kissing your hand? God, Geto was right - he really is a loser. “Should I call the healers, your highness?”

“No we have him drawn and quartered for such an unseemly display-”

“Nobara, that’s quite alright.” You’re waving off, smooth marble floors resonating out sharp clacks! when you walk even closer. Close. Too close. Until you’re seated on the edge of the bed, “After all, it is my consort choosing ceremony. Isn’t that what you’re here for, Satoru?”

Gojo thinks he could faint at the way you say his name - and he almost does. 

Scrambling towards you, he’s fully kneeling at your feet now. You’re so beautiful - so real - that pearly beads of tears dot his fluttering lashes. “Y-yes, ma’am.”

He swears he hears you mumble cute under your breath. Now he could really faint–

“Oh? And I intend on fulfilling the wishes of my guest.” Speaking somewhere over his shoulder, “You two are dismissed. Lock the doors.”

Kugisaki is, unsurprisingly, the one to protest. “But- but, your highness he’s-” And, honestly, Gojo can recognize the raw expression of what the fuck in her voice. He doesn’t blame her one bit. Not when you tip his head up further to face yours and his nose twitches like he’s about to start nosebleeding all over again. “...pathetic.”

Ouch. Gojo was on the verge of spoiling the ending to her character’s backstory when you’re humming. “I like them pathetic, Nobara.” 

Did he mention you were an angel?

“So…” You’re luring him in, and just that heady lilt of your voice already makes his cottony grey sweatpants tight. Shit- wasn’t this the type of situation that he wrote secret fanfics about?

Barely hearing the creaky SLAM! of the double doors to your royal chamber. Clouded pants waft over your satisfied features, he’s peeking up at you over his large spectacles. Lolling closer and closer-

Mumbling, “Yes, my prin- oh!”

Gojo’s pouted strawberry-pink lips wobble cutely when the golden points of your heel dig into the fleshy mound of his thigh. Prominent Adam’s apple bobbing, “Y-your highness?”

“What’s this about a-” Watery eyes widening wordlessly when you’re sliding it all the way up, up, up along the shockingly curvaceous muscles to press right down on the straining inches of his fattened cock. Needy. Bulging. “-virginity loss mission-” Hard. “-Satoru?”

And Gojo doesn’t know what comes first - that sharp inhale at the realization, or him.

Fist flying up for him to sink his pretty pearly whites into when he’s biting back a whimper and cumming.

You could feel the way that Gojo’s sloppy mushroom tip was just bawling with every lazy grind up and down his sappy slit. 

Milking out the thick, goopy ribbons being sprinkled from his rounded mushroom tip. Volumes upon volumes. So much of it. That warm texture clinging against the flats of your shoe and puddling out mushy dark splotches into his sweatpants.

Shit. Shit shit shit - cumming just from that. All in front of the woman of his dreams. Part of him almost wants to apologize.

But the way your mouth curls into a sleazy grin makes Gojo’s heart race, every minute action only keeping his achy length even harder. 

He so can’t help himself from grabbing your calves to halt with a few twitchy fingers - only to be going against his own yearnings. Hips humping yours once like a fucking dog as his breath hitches, “You- you know?”

“Awww, of course I know, Toru. I can see the screen.” Fuck- he hopes you can’t feel the wet splat! of another buttery wad of cum being dolloped out generously from his depraved divot. Leaning in, “S’this the first time anyone else has ever made you cum?”

He knew you were teasing - he knew it. But that doesn’t stop Gojo from panting out a strained, “Yes.”

“Hmmm, well-” You’re tapping your chin in thought, despite already having made your decision. But it was just so fun to see this beautiful man shivering and pleading on his knees. “I don’t know where you transmigrated from but…I still am a benevolent ruler, after all.”

He gulps. Cupping one flushed side of his face, Gojo’s practically a steaming hot mess of putty in your hands. “And I can take care of that little virginity business for you.”

Croaking out, “P-please.”

“Hmmm, not good ‘nough.” You’re rovering down even further to press a slight smooch of pressure against his fatly filled-up balls. Thighs squeezing at just how big they were - breeder balls. “Is that how you speak to your princess?”

“No- no no no-” Gojo’s shaking his head so hard that it makes him a little dizzy, or maybe that was the way that you were fisting your determined digits into his faded hoodie. “Please…ma’am.”

“Much better.”

Before he can even blink, he’s being dragged upwards according to your every want and whim. Thrown onto the bouncy king-sized mattress with such strength- of course, he shouldn’t even be surprised. You are the future queen for a reason, after all. 

In fact, he’s never skipped a single cut scene that showed you training your battle skills-

“Now now, don’t tell me you’re tapping out already?” Your voice drifts its way into his melty mind, words so sugary sweet that he could almost taste them. “At least gimme a lil’ kiss now-”

And it’s more than anything he could’ve ever dreamed of.

Muffling back a muted yes, Gojo’s surging upwards to clash his lips into yours. And oh shit, just-now realizing that he’s lost his first ever kiss. 

Then his second. His third. His fourth.

It’s messy. It’s hot. 

Tugging you even closer with a forearm around your waist. Gojo’s sloppy tongue is licking its way past your ravenous entrance, fucked-out bubbles of spittle pop up at the edges of his pursed lips when you’re breaking away-

“N-nooo-” He’s letting off a shuddering whine, chasing after you with a sluttily half-parted maw. “Gimme- wanna ‘nother kiss, princess.”

So greedy. The fat curve of your thumb positions itself on Gojo’s prettily dimpled chin, prying open his dewy lips even further. “Open that mouth f’me, Toru?”

He’s doing exactly what you’re saying before he even realizes it. The glistening muscle of his tongue splayed-out perfectly on display for you - for you to spit out a heavy mass of saliva right onto his pinkish tastebuds. 

Gojo moans at the contact - and you can feel it before he does. The subtle jolt of his weepy cockhead, before your languidly gyrating kneecap is dampened with another wiry slather of cum. Warm and wet. 

“Cumming again?” You coo, eyes darting between the ever-growing pool of a frosted mess between his long legs, and his face. Gojo looked so pretty like this - glasses sliding down his button nose, eyes shuttering with each heaving pant - gasp. Face flushed and slicked with a slight shimmer of sweat, stray locks of white curtain and stick to his reddened forehead. He looked so pretty. “Just from that?”

He’s squirming his depraved hips to smudge a faint glaze of seed down your mounds of flesh, one palm dancing upwards to stop himself from having a nosebleed all over again. “C-can’t help it…The average time of ejaculation for a man is five to seven minutes based on psychological factors and age. And as a healthy young man just because I-”

You’re shutting him up with a kiss, and Gojo almost wonders why more people don’t do this time - that is, until he remembers they’re not you.

“Sounds pretty serious.” You’re nodding, a mask of teasing graveness taking over your face. Swiftly shuffling down the seemingly endless expanse of the bed. Doughy fingerpads delicately hooking onto the hem of his drenched pants, “Better get a taste before you run out, then.”

Gojo lets out such a breathy pant at the implication, “N-no it won’t, considering the volume of the seminal vesicle and- ah!”

Whatever drunken rambling of his is cut very, very short as soon as you tug down those useless sweatpants and let Gojo’s red, painfully angry cock smack! against his abdomen with a wet smear.

He was so…big.

Such girthy, solid inches upon inches that twitched needily right before your very eyes. A rummaging, left-leaning curve being nestled above two pretty pink balls. 

Your mouth waters once you’re curling your fingers dexterously around his plump circumference, making his cerise cockhead waterfall out in another lazy sheen of pre. It’s honestly a bit of a strain to even get your fingertips meeting each other properly with his incredible size, and that just makes you want him more.

Gojo’s knitting his ivory brows nervously, “S-s’it okay?”

It’s more than okay.

And you’re about to show him that.

Cerulean irises crossing together until they were all heart-eyed when a saturated coating of your saliva tops his bloated tip like a layer of icing. Before he feels himself fall in fucking love just at the gummy peck of your mouth onto the rotund ends of his length.

“W-woahhh—” He’s breathing out, eyes locked lecherously right with yours when the steaming hot cavern of your mouth sinks in more and more and more- “This- what- fuuuck-”

And then you’re huffing out a slight chuckle through your nose, hitting his drenched base and making him keen. Slender hips of his lurch the perfect angle off the luxurious bed to bump his mountainous head against the very back of your throat. 

Gasping - begging. 

“You’re seriously gonna…take me?” Prattling through clenched teeth as you grace him with a few more flooding masses of spit. It makes him feel so used. Feel so good. “Like you- you’re gonna put me in your mouth?”

“No.” You’re snickering at the utterly crestfallen look on his face, full mouth downturned, puffed-up tip tinting an even more blasphemous red as if to tempt you. Your fingers tangle with his to claw at the crown of your head, “You’re gonna put yourself in my mouth.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Shit-” Gojo whispers - more to himself than anything. “You can do this- can- can do this- just suck on m’cock-” Rubbing out a translucent lipstain all over your ajar maw before plugging his proud girth inside. “Please- wanna know what it feels…”

Gojo can’t remember what he was saying. What he was thinking. 

Because just a few vulgar sucks of your tenderized mouth around his inflated cock and he’s drunk. Fuck dying by a truck, he was about to die just by this. 

Head lolling all the way back against the poofy pillows, white-hot bliss flashing behind his eyes and- when had he even closed them?

“Wh-why does it feel so–” he’s clenching his jaw, dredging out every single ounce of will in his being to peer at the heavenly - hah- sight below. “-so- good- c-can it feel so good- hngh- please-”

Gojo’s drawing up the hem of his hoodie to cover that brightly blossoming blush. So adorable. He even tasted sweet, like the best of salted caramel that made you infinitely want more. 

Your salacious tongue is repeatedly wetting down his lightning bolted veins. Up and down up and down up and down to draw little hearts on those bumpy lines. 

His sobbing cockhead mushing back into the velveteen walls of your mouth, and Gojo could cum just from the voluptuous curve being outlined into your cheek. He’s finding it almost fucking impossible to grunt out over the raw squelches! emanating from where you were making out with his throbbing cock, “Must be illegal- that’s it! It f-feels so good this must be- ngh- outlawed.”

You’ve rendered him stupid. And he’s so hot and heavy in your mouth, it makes your core stir up to think that you’re the first.

Every choked-up plea only resonates off of the numerous corners of your bedroom even louder once your fingers latch onto the gluttonous curve of his fattened balls. Squeezing-

“S-so dirty- so dirty, princess…” And part of Gojo doesn’t know why he’s letting his traitorous hands wander onto the back of your scalp. Doesn’t know why he’s plunging just a few more inches past your prettily-pouted lips - you were his princess and he was…not treating you like royalty.

The Gojo in this game had always been so smooth. So suave. Taking his sweet, sweet time to hold your hand and talk to you about the politics of your kingdom.

Right now he was curving his thick thighs to flex around your shoulder and feeding you every saccharine inch you could possibly swallow up. “Can you- can you take more? Take this biiiig fuckin’ cock?”

You’re being choked in a locked hold by his powerful legs, and you’ve never been wetter. Practically puddling out a syrupy pond on the sheets underneath you.

Tugging out the thick nub of his thumb to smear those honeyed splatters of his precum at the corners of your mouth, you can only grin as you let your sentence translate into thrumming vibrations. “Mhmm— Settling into it s-so well, aren’t ya, Tooooru?”

“F-fuck!” Gojo’s blushing tip glides shyly down the tight back of your throat, rovering all along each n’ every millimeter of space inside you. It only made your head bob faster to imagine how he would feel down there- “Don’t talk- don’t talk. Please don’t talk s’gonna make me…”

But you.

Oh, Gojo Satoru has read your character profile over 2489 times by now.

He’s memorized every factoid and morsel of knowledge there is to know about you - so of course, he should’ve known. Should’ve realized that babbling away those words would only make your sultry motions increase.

“Cum f’me like a good boy.”

And he does. 

You can only watch in awe when a pearlescent globule of cum gumdrops from his weepy orifice, one. Two. Three. Until Gojo was just drenching the entirety of your mouth with thickly viscous coatings of seed, until you were just drooling with a wadded mess of spittle and seed.

Salty flavor dripping down your tongue and flooding out. So much of it. Too much, Gojo was spurting out the thickest ribbons of creamy white as if he’d never cum before - and doesn’t plan to stop any time soon. 

More, more, more like it was the sound of your voice making him shiver. Making him whine like a zillion volts of electricity was running down his greedy spine. 

The moment you pull away, hefty oodles of cum hit Gojo’s toned abs with a wet splat! And your dear subject is wrangling out his hands towards you like he never wanted to let go.

“No- no! Please- please come back-” Crinkling tears trek their way down his dewy face, sensory pads of his fingers reaching out for you desperately, only for you to part away. “N-need your pretty mouth on me.”

You’re raising a brow, thumbing over his still-crying divot, “But don’tcha want something…else, Satoru?”

“Something- else?” He’s rasping out haltingly, head thoroughly swimming with nothing but you. Your heart glows with pride at the way he can barely form coherent sentences, “What…oh.”

But Gojo gets the idea soon enough when you’re hastily shedding away your outer robes. He fumblingly tries to help, of course, but the simple idea of helping a woman undress is too much for him - and he’s banished to simply watching you, one hand held underneath his nose in case of another…incident. 

Gown and undergarments hitting the floor, your gorgeous legs come to hike up, up, up- driveling mouth falling slack the moment they’re ending up rested on either side of his intoxicated head.

“Oh.” He wheezes intelligently up at your glistening cunt.

“Nothing else ta say?” Your heady purrs only make him blush, nuzzling his feverishly burning cheek against the spattered sheen of slick at your inner thigh. He’s making such a mess on purpose. Making himself a mess. 

“Well-” Gojo bats his long lashes up at you dangerously, clear planes of his glasses digging into the handsome apples of his cheeks. But he didn’t mind. Couldn’t even feel anything but the sweltering heat of your arousal. “-jus’ that- I want you to spit in my mouth, princess.”

And the very moment that sugar-coated sap, Gojo moans.

Eyes flickering shut at the taste of himself - the taste of you. A candied little tinge that he oh-so-badly needs more of - and without even a second of hesitation, he’s stuffing himself right there between your pretty legs. 

It doesn’t matter the rhythm. It doesn’t matter the rhyme. 

And Gojo doesn’t even know any - the very moment your puffy lips are meeting his kiss-bitten ones in a French kiss, he already knows that your cute cunt has taken him hostage.

Jaw clenching as he tries to memorize all those fanfics he guiltily read night after night, Gojo’s bumping up his cloudily condensed glasses further up his nose when he leaves one kiss. Two. “Ohhhh, your pussy tastes s-sooo good.”

And they each get messier and messier after the other. 

Letting the heaping dollops of your juices flood onto his roughened tastebuds, he’s letting his long tongue peek apart your gluey pussylips. Sliding the very tip up and down and round n’ round your slicked entrance. 

“The- the oh!” Gojo flinches just as your body arches even deeper once he pokes his fat muscle past your tight ring. Leaving such a slew of wet slurps with every drag, he was dirty. “-according to what I’ve read, th-the clitoris is found at the top of the vulva. It should be located where the hah- labia-”

His words cut off with what you swear sounds like a strangled whimper when you harshly fist your digits into his silken-soft strands and push.

And you don’t notice it at the time, hell, even Gojo doesn’t notice with just how ruined he was right about now. 

But the sole moment you’re manhandling him to your will makes his flushed crownhead geyser out a torrential of cum. 

Fountaining out waves and waves of seed that paint his hefty base with a frosted ring. Such thickened volumes for the nth time tonight. Just from the roughened way that you were pushing him to make out with your pretty pussy.

He wanted to be used.

“Used, huh?” You’re letting out a murky pant of laughter- fuck, did he say that out loud? “Wanna be u-used, Satoru- wanna keep that big mouth of yours hngh- full?”

He’s nodding. Nodding and nodding and nodding with every sloppy gyration that you bestow all down his features. Huffing and puffing through every gasping breath he manages to shudder in, he’s shooting out a good mass of saliva. “Yes- ride me. Ride me. Fucking ride my face. A-always wanted you to ride me- hngh- please.” 

And how could you deny him when he’s all begging like that?

Gluey ropes of spit and slick lacquer Gojo’s chin like a smooth polish, and he’s sticking against you like he was just as clingy. Jaw grinding against your kinetically moving pussy, the pointed edge of his nose weaves from between your leaky slit and ends up pressing right onto your clit-

“O-oh!” Your head tumbles backwards with an ever-tightening grip onto his sweat-dampened locks. “Yeah- right there–”

“Here? Here?” He sounds like he couldn’t quite believe it. The ravenous edge of his thumb curling right up your soppy slit and pinning down your hooded clit. Hard. “The glans clitoris r-right here. And I found it- I found it.” Breathing out a long whistle that makes your heated skin bristle with goosebumps, “I always wondered what would h-happen if I…”

You barely even have the time to react before you’re staring at the glisten of Gojo’s sharp canines sneaking up to your sensitive nub and biting.

And he didn’t expect this.

He didn’t expect it to be better than the fanfiction-

Because your generous cunt just cascades in another jet of sappy juices, glazing Gojo’s features sexily all the way from his dimpled grin up to his glasses. 

They’re dripping wet, waterlogged with treacly film of slick that forces him to gawk up at you from below with such a loving gaze. Just the way he’s peering up at you is enough to make your breaths hitch.

“Gonna- gonna write about this, y’know? H-hope you know that this changed my hah- fuckin’ life, my princess…my girl.” Gojo drawls out lazily, movements as slow as if he was slipping through molasses when he sinks the rounded tips of his cushy fingers into your slick-flooded entrance. “Gonna h-have you for breakfast- for ah- lunch…aaaand for dinner.”

With a pitchy whine, you’re tightening your hold onto his thick locks and mushing his face so close. Close enough that you could already feel the mushy pout of his lips and that lazy chuckle.

Only then do you realize that he’s doing this on purpose. Mouthing off until you’re making both his chilling frames and his regal nose clash at the target of your clit with every repeated swivel, each glissading snog of his tongue making you throb. 

Everywhere. Anywhere. Everywhere and anywhere that he could reach.

“Such a dirty boy, huh?” You muse, swearing that that only makes him even sloppier. “S’that what you are? Ngh- bet you’ve never tasted a p-pussy before, huh?”

“N-nooo- haven’t. But are they all so…fucking delicious?” And he’s lapping up every sensual ounce, not letting even a tiny speckle go to waste. Because Gojo Satoru was kissing your pretty pussy like he could only dream of those long, lonely nights. 

You were a fucking dream - his dream.

The full force of his desperation hitting you when Gojo’s letting his drunken head loll ever-so-slightly backwards to take a good, long admiring look at your cunt. And you wonder if he could even see with his glasses all sodden and filthy like that. 

You wonder if he even realized when he’s leaving a lingering swat! of his plush fingertips right onto the bullseye of your pulsing button, and then another few at your fleshy channel. 

And it was so unfair how he was pummeling your poor gummy walls with swipe after swipe of his eager fingerpads working your glutinous walls open. Probing his neatly manicured fingers perfectly into your most tender spots. “Like that?”

“Sh-shiiit–” You’re mewling at the tautly coiling build-up at your cunt. Further and further. You felt like you were about to snap. “-is- is this my first time or yours, Toru–”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” And Gojo’s palming his engulfing hands over the jiggling mounds of your ass to drag you like some ragdoll even deeper onto his sloppy maw. You’re forced to slap your hand onto the royal headboard to get at least some semblance of balance. “Jus’ want you- need you.”

Gawping up at you - he looks just as fucked-out as you feel. Blushing oh-so-innocently with his lecherous mouth slithering to steal a loud mwah! planted onto your salivating pussy. And then a final, weighty wad of spit. “Need me to be yours.” 

With a final, trembling shove of Gojo’s pretty face pliantly against your hot core, you’re cumming. Riding out your peak with stuttering rotations all over his lolled-out, bumpy tastebuds.

“Fuh-fuck!” You didn’t even care if you were getting his glasses messy at this point - he’d already made enough of a mess out of you. Embarrassingly so. “S’s-so good. Hah- gotta put your mouth to work more o-often, Satoru.”

And you can’t stop the way that your jaw parts into a soft oh! every time he pinches your bulbous clit at the very tip of every single one of your peaks. Right on time. More on sheer animal instinct than anything because Gojo’s still reeling from the fact that he made you cum.

He made you cum.

He made you cum.

He made you cum.

Babbling away just as stupidly as he had mere moments before, your orgasm is…magical. None of these haughty princes or dukes could ever compare to this. “S-such a good ngh- boy f’me.”

That is, until you feel Gojo tenderly curl his fingers around one of your stray ones to form a fist. Nudging it against one of yours in a…fistbump? 

“You have…no…fucking idea.” He’s letting out a drenching ptwah! of spittle, all the masses and rivulets of your sickeningly sweet juices sliding all the way down his tongue and pooling at the back of his throat. Like he always wanted your taste there.

And you’re still feeling the twinging tremors down your spine, flurries of stars bursting behind your hooded lids when he lets his sinfully long tongue slather your fluttering cunt with another hot kiss. 

Nose crinkling at how you’re stagnating your vigorous cadence, he bats his lashes up at your shocked stare - and you already know what his sapphire gaze is begging for before he even asks.

“Toru-”

“More.” Gojo interrupts you - and he knows he’ll beat himself up for it later. Maybe he’ll even…make it up to you. But for now, the only thing replaying on his cottony mind was just how perfect you looked cumming all over his mouth - even the specially-paid NSFW scenes didn’t go into this much detail. 

He was in heaven. 

You feel the humid brush of his tongue between your saturated pussylips, pleading. Begging. “Wan’ more- wanna taste you more, princess- please-”

And Gojo looks so fucking heartbroken the very moment those lips part with such a wet slurp! A low whine curdling at the back of his throat, his glossy lips curve downwards into a jutted-out pout.

He’s chasing after your pussy with absolutely no shame, greedy fingertips digging into the curve of your ass while he nudges you closer and closer. Stealing tiny kittenish licks, stealing longing whiffs just to smell the scent of your pussy.

“No- no- want- please-” He’s rambling away, half-lidded eyes widening with alarm. Like you were taking away his favorite dessert right from under his nose, and Gojo was not having it. 

But you knew a thing or two about ruling. 

And it’s with such smug satisfaction that you get to push down a wolfish Gojo so hard he collides back onto the mattress and bounces. 

Giggling - giggling, “S’this mean I get to…fuck you now?”

Oh, it’s spoken like a mantra. A true confession that he never even imagined would come out from those lips of his. 

You’re nodding, “Mhm— m’thinking that good boys get to hah- fuck me.” 

He’s ogling you right now when you meander between his milky legs just as you did before. Except, this time, you’re stopping right at the defined v-line of his sculptured hips. Darting thumb rubbing back and forth over the pooling streaks of cum from just before. 

“Did you cum without me ngh- again, Toru?” You’re teasing, and he almost feels so pathetic the way his mouth latches onto the curve of your sheened digits and sucks. “That’s not what a good-”

“I am I am-” Gojo insists, brows furrowing. He’s so unsure what to do, so unsure what to even think other than looping his arms around your waist to tug, tug, tug you ever-closer. It’ll never be enough. “Promise I’ll be a- ngh-”

Shit.

Your fingers shackle a tight grip around his pale, prespired neck. He looks so gorgeous squirming underneath you like this - squirming for more, that is. 

“Then you better promise to fuck me really good, Satoru.” Your whispers come out in a honeyed tone that wafts against his reddening ears. Maybe because of that, maybe because of the way your nails claw marks, you feel his plumpened head twitch. “Really good.”

His head lolls all the way into your grasp, he was done. Murmuring, “I’ll be a really, really good boy- ma’am.”

That did it.

And before Gojo knows it, you’re letting his syrupy mushroom tip slip in a few thick inches with ease. Geysers of his pre trickling out from between the tight stretch of your gluey hole, sinking in more and more.

Gojo’s mouth opens with a slow leak of drool with just how warm you were hugging him from the inside. Your candied walls so fucking clingy that he finds himself choking out a huff, planting two steadying hands on either side of your waist and pushing-

“Oh fuck- oh fuck.” His eyes grow adorable wide, stare perched right down where he was disappearing in and out of you in mindless, rapid ruts just to bully himself inside. “Th-this feels nothing like my P-Pocketpussy3000-”

“Toru…” Your words come out in a growl, crescent nail leaving neat indentations on his column of skin. 

“J-just feels so much better, my girl.” Gojo insists, something swirling deeply in his eyes that makes your heartbeat irregular. “You’re so…so warm and- and wet. That stupid rubber could never compare to the adventitia and musclaris and- and I’m really fucking you.”

He is. 

He was, at least until only a few vulgarly deep strokes probing in about halfway down his swollen shaft makes Gojo bump his ridged slit against one of those spots. The globe of Gojo’s proud cockhead leaves a hefted thud! that thunders pure bliss into your fuzzy head and makes you clench.

And it makes him cum. Again.

Wet spurts of warm seed splashing into each n’ every inch inside of you and filling you all the way up to the brim. There’s so many of his copious ribbons sloshing around inside of you, and it doesn’t even make Gojo’s tempo slow down.

It doesn’t even make him falter. 

“Sh-shiiiit-” He’s hissing, lower lip worried and fussed between his teeth until you were sure he’d be drawing blood. “Cumming—!”

Dipping down a few fingers to part your soppy lips, Gojo’s thrusts get more relentless when he catches his eyes on the steady waterfall of cum and slick seeping into his hoodie. Fucking the webbed mess deeper - but it only wrings out more pearly wads streaming down. 

Gojo’s voice wrenches out from the very back of his throat in a stubborn mewl, just about five octaves higher than you’re used to. “I came…inside.”

The one n’ only warning you get before he hooks an arm around the small of your back and flips the two of you over. Easily. 

Back sinking into the velvety bed-covering, your spine arches in a geometrical semicircle off the mattress as Gojo takes the blasphemous opportunity to bottom out. His meaty tip finally meets the target of your spongy cervix, breeder balls clashing stickily into the split end of your folds with a hulking thwack!

And you’re almost wondering at just how it was possible that Gojo - nervous, bumbling Gojo Satoru who’d never even held hands with a woman before - had the willpower and strength to overpower a seasoned fighter like you.

But that’s when he tugs his utterly sullied hoodie off and you’re rendered thoughtless. Mouth watering at the toned ridges and curves that bulged all over his Herculean body.

Gojo wasn’t just toned - he was fucking jacked.

And all yours for the taking.

Just your greedy stare is enough to wash his cheekbones with a scorching blush, as if he wasn’t near-nine inches deep inside you already. You gasp when his tongue pokes out to catch a few dripping splat! splat! splats! of your slick still dripping from his glasses. “I-I read in a director’s cut that you like men with abs so I…” 

And before you can even respond, his hips do all the talking for you. Striking your own with a deafening pap! of skin-on-skin, broad pecs heaving with a sharp inhale as if he didn’t even realize what he was doing. Wasn’t in control. 

Two of his doughy palms veer underneath your now-jittery thighs and hoist them up effortlessly to dangle over his shoulders. 

Gojo’s letting off a low grunt when his curvaceous knees slide wider across the pricey bedsheets. All the while mumbling, “N’ just because m’a hah- virgin doesn’t mean I don’t know a thing or two. Like- I saw this thing ngh- o-online called a…” Bending you like a pliant lawnchair down, down, down- “-a mating press.”

Online? Mating press? You didn’t know what he was rambling on nonsensically about now, but maybe you could excuse that with the fact that he was stretching you out stupid. 

“What a pretty boy.” You’re managing out, fingers unsticking a few strands of pearly white plastering onto his forehead. “Now s-stop teasing and hngh- fuck me.”

Your words are jolting such a dark, primal part of his brain. Eyes hooded, teeth pulling back with a low whimper of ah! The bed sings out a protesting creak when Gojo’s hand comes slamming! down onto the poor frame. Spitting out, “I-I can’t stop…fuck- I can’t stop. Won’t-”

He’s pushing and pushing his ravenous hips in animalistic little humps, the cylindrical shape of his cock swabbing in sultry circles around your gooey insides. Already splitting you apart snugly to the brim, but still he’s drilling in for more.

“You hafta move, Satoru-” Even your most gentle tone is enough to make his strawberry divot sugarcoat you in a thickly viscous few spatters of pre.

And when he talks he sounds wild, “Do I- haaaah- do I really hafta move? Jus’ wanna lose my virginity like this. Wanna stay inside you forever and ever and ever.”

He was already pussydrunk.

And it’s so cute it makes your heart clench. All over six feet of him melting into you by now; head heatedly shoved against the crook of your neck, motions glissading a slip n’ slide of his sexily defined abs pinned to your front. Powerless. 

Gojo blinks up at you through thoroughly hazy eyes when you tilt his face back up to face yours, and the deep eye-contact makes him blush. 

“But I really, really wan’ you to hah- fuck me.” You pout, and you already know by the stutter in his labored breathing that you have him wrapped around your cute lil’ finger. Jostling your hips in a slight buck, “Look-she’s begging for ya already.”

Oh. 

“Is- is she really?” Gojo sighing out in surprise, eyes pondering down to where he was making your puffed-up pussy folds bulge. Slipping out a gasp before he’s clutching onto his nose to stop any more bleeding.

Your slobbering lips coated with a glimmer of his spit and cum, so very his that Gojo finds himself subconsciously nodding along to the sappy squelches bubbling from below. 

“Yes- yes you’re right–” Propelling a slow drag of his hips to sweep every hidden orifice of yours inside, “Oh! Ya got l-louder- so you agree-”

He’s hiking up your legs even further up his shoulders, interlocking them with one massively flexing bicep held behind his head. Eyes still locked below - only then do you realize that he’s not talking to you. 

And then again. And again. And again and again until Gojo was striking your poor cervix with repeated battering rams of his plump cock. Dense balls stinging against your ass with ringing thwacks. Spherical bruises of his circumference being indented over n’ over it’s like he doesn’t even realize. 

Didn’t even know he was doing anything other than wrenching out the most sinful noises from your goopy pussy. 

“Mhm- such a pretty ngh- pussy.” Spitting out the very word like it was embarrassing, two sizeable fingers latch around the plump peak of your clit. Transfixed. You wondered whether he even remembered his own name. “Such a pretty clit.”

“Fuck!” You’re halfway through sobbing when he sends shockwaves of pleasure all across your body. And even more so when one tilted drive of all his inches leaves a skidding skim down the area of your g-spot. “There- right there, Satoru-”

He’s gaping up at you as if suddenly snapped out of a hypnotic trance, only to fall into an all-new one. Disbelieving mouth parted slightly, he breathes, “I’m…fucking you. I’m actually- ohhh fuck m’fucking you- like really, truly. This isn’t a dream.” Like he just realized - and he just did. “M’giving you my cock- making you t-take alllll of it-”

Never in his life did he think anything could ever feel this good. He was never going back. He would never be the same. 

Your drooling pussy was molding around him so nicely, taking onto the very shape of his long shaft. Massaging every inflamed vein poking against your splashed walls, so warm with the leftover puddles of his own sticky cum.

 He’s worshipping you, tilting his head to place a heady trailway of wet kisses down each of your ankles. “M’yours so m’-” Then your calves, your tits, your collarbones, everywhere and anywhere-

“-m’gonna make feel h-hah good.” His nose scrunches with focus, a few fat ends of Gojo’s fingers come down from pinning your ankles to splay out on your tummy. All bloated with his thick outline that even through his fogged-up glasses, he swears he could see a bulge. “Need to find it- need to.”

Pound after pound being placed desperately onto everywhere he could reach inside of you. You can feel the baking hot swash of his sap coating you in a second skin. Each dab of his ballooned crownhead leaves behind a marking bead of buttery pre. 

And maybe it was the way you’re feeling the slow trickle of all his sappy torrentials inside you, but you’re gurgling out a little, “What- what are you-”

“The g-spot.” Gojo answers your messy blithers of syllables with a tender rub onto your clit. Though, he wasn’t too far behind himself, if the way his digits trembled told you anything. “It’s s-supposed to be somewhere in the hah- anterior vaginal wall, between your pretty hole and the urethra. Often said to be stimulated about a few inches ngh- up-” 

But this time, you’re the one cutting him off. With a rapid, deprived rut that bustles his left-leaning curve to head in a jackhammer precisely towards your bulging g-spot. 

And then you see white. 

Perhaps from the sheer shock of him leaving a good French kiss that tenderizes your sweetest hidden coves, perhaps from the way that the both of you are cumming. 

“Shit- shiiiit-” You’re perking your ass to smack against his in lewd little paps, half-formulated moans flooding your mouth with each delicious thrust being planted right onto that spot. Gojo’s fucking you through each of your edges, over and over until you feel yourself crashing back-to-back into not one, not two, but three orgasms. “Really did fuck me- hngh- ah-”

Before you even realize, you’re throwing your arms around Gojo’s rippling shoulder muscles to claw a few artistic lines of red. And he loves it- fuck, it makes him cum even harder. 

“S-spit in my mouth, ma’am.”

And when you do, he latches onto yours with a messy, messy open-mouthed makeout. Groaning around his second-favorite activity of sucking your cute tongue - his most favorite activity being fucking this depraved cunt of yours. 

Cumming and cumming until he physically can’t. Steady rivers of seed logging up whatever remnant space inside your snug cunt before he sputters out sheer nothingness. 

A shiver wracks through Gojo’s body with the way he was cumming dry. And once he spies down a few whipped globs of it spilling out to form a velvety ring around his base, he’s plugging your leaky entrance with a few free fingers.

Lapping up that trickling excess with a slow suck peering right into your eyes before he seals you with his jostling digits back up again.

“Love it- love it love it love it-” He’s letting loose with each spasm of parching cum overspilling your flooded insides, those ribbony meshes swirl all around his pumping cock and trickle down in a creamy stream. Coating his twitchy balls no matter how much he tries to make you milk up every ounce, so much of it. Hot. “Love it- love being your good boy- I love you.”

Gojo’s heart races when you only plant a cute peck onto his sheened glasses, and then another onto his mouth. Resting your sweaty head against his very own, “How would ya like to be my own royal consort, Toru?”

Ah, it was virtually a proposal. To stay by your side forever and ever and ever - the only thing he’s ever wanted, really.

And Gojo’s about to kiss your awaiting lips senseless as an answer- that is, he was about to before both your ears chime with an undeniable PING!

Before an agitating, gratingly familiar voice rings across your heady atmosphere, “Congratulations user: [Satorulovesprincess] on completing Mission: No-Longer-Virgin!” You’re wincing at the sterile glow of that screen once more. “Please await the new updates to the program Sweetheart Online.”

And you both barely even have time to register those words before there’s a thunderous creak! from the empty space of your royal bed.

Except…the bed wasn’t so empty anymore. 

Right with your heated proximity was a man - a beautiful man. All long legs, and inky hair that ran down to his slender waist, twinkling amethyst eyes rounded in the exact same shock that shone in Gojo’s right about now. 

“Suguru?”

“Satoru!” Before he’s tilting his head towards you, and perhaps most glaringly, the way that Gojo was still scouring deeply inside you. A delicate blush tints his - Suguru’s - high cheekbones, voice cracking embarrassingly at the end. “P-princess.”

And something about his tone made your cunt quiver - just in time for Geto to shuffle the tightening crotch of his pants. Something that Gojo noticed, if the way he was crushing you to his body even tighter said anything.

“Let me guess-” Gojo tilts his head, a sleazily drunken smirk curving the edges of his ruddied lips. “-the truck got you haaaah- don’ squeeze me like that, my girl– too?”

“It- it was ramen poisoning actually…” Geto’s deep baritone trails off, struggling to rip his eyes away from you as the screen flickers once more. 

“Sweetheart Online updates completed! Commencing Love Rival (Three’s Company) arc. User: [Sugulovesprincess] joined.”

A/N. MAN I love loserboy Gojo hehehe- hope you have a lovely week <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

[rissouu]

I KNOW IM YOUR FAVORITE, gojo satoru ཐི♡ཋྀ

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ in which: he may be your ex, but that doesn’t mean you can just move on.

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ wc: 2.9k words.

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ warnings: lots of angst, dark content (not really), sexual content, pussy!drunk gojo, stalker!gojo, heavy possessiveness, mentions of violence, pet names, daddy kink, heavy breeding kink, baby trapping (but y/n wants it), gojo sucks ur feet for literally 1 second, yandere gojo (ehh), cunnilingus, overstimulation, toxic!gojo (barely), ex!gojo, and etc.

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ notes: okay look this shit is very freaky, and it’s loosely based on the song hold me down by daniel caesar! and gojo is a stalker y’all, this is your only warning babes.. please leave now if you’re uncomfy! he is kinda crazy in this but in a lovingly way.. y’know? not proofread either so not too much on me!

when you walked into your apartment you couldn’t help the exaggerated giggles you let out. it was embarrassing actually, acting like a school girl in junior high all over again. the reason for your happiness was pretty simple— you just had your first date.

your first date since you broke up with your ex, gojo.

that was about a year ago now.. a year since you and the love of your life parted ways. up until recently you’ve never had the guts to put yourself out there again, always scared that one day you’ll just end up hurt again.

but your whole view on dating changed when you met this guy at a grocery store. he offered to pay for your entire cart, and it was well over $300 worth. you found the gesture sweet, and from there you two exchanged numbers.

he was no gojo of course, but you had to move on at some point. it’s already been a year, if gojo didn’t reach out yet, then maybe that meant he’d moved on too.

well.. so you thought.

you were so caught up in the excitement from how well your date went, you barely even realized you were still in pitch black.

“fuck i got so distracted i forgot to turn the lights on.” you chuckled to yourself, flipping the light switch on and hanging your purse on the door.

you didn’t know why but you had a feeling you weren’t alone, like someone was watching you— or better yet breathing right down your neck.

the house was eerily quiet, so quiet you could hear the drop of a pen. but something felt off about your apartment, and you were never one to ignore your instincts.

just as you were about to retreat and run out the door, a familiar voice had you stopping in your tracks.

no. fucking. way.

“where were you?” the achingly familiar man smiled, trying his best to hide the dangerous aura oozing from his body. he knew exactly where you were, and always have. you didn’t know it yet— but he’d been watching you for a while now. ever since you dumped him which was more than a year ago now.

technically it was stalking.. but he didn’t like to call it that. in his mind, he was more of a guardian angel— just making sure you’re okay and still breathing.

how else would he check on you since you blocked him on everything else?

the white haired man was sitting on your couch with his head tilted— clearly waiting for an answer although he already knew where you were to begin with. it was pretty easy to keep tabs on you.

you stared at him, a small frown forming across your face. you were feeling weak in the knees. the first thing you wanted to do was jump on him and tell him how much you missed him.

but you knew you couldn’t do that, not anymore. the two of you just didn’t go together, or at least that’s how you felt a year ago. you couldn’t get back with him, you wouldn’t. no matter how much it hurt.. it was better than dealing with his unstability.

“what are you doing in my house, gojo?” you folded your arms— staring back at him with the same expression he was giving you. that’s what he loved about you, you weren’t easy.

with the blink of an eye, he was up from the couch and coming closer towards you. the man easily towered over you so to say he was intimidating was an understatement.

instead of answering your question he just stared at you with a blank expression— and you did the same exact thing. this was common with you two, just staring at each other in silence until one of you dared to speak up.

about five minutes later, gojo finally cracked. you silently praised yourself for being able to last longer than him.

with a low chuckle, he shook his head— slightly licking over his lips. “i think im the one asking the questions here, hm? so answer me.”

you scoffed at his arrogance, seems like some things just never change. “i was on a date if you must know, now get the hell out of my house.”

as soon as you got your words out he couldn’t help but to laugh. honestly, gojo didn’t even know what was so funny, maybe it was the way you said it.. you really thought you held some type of authority?

“and now you’re laughing at me? what’s so funny?”

that only made him laugh more, truth be told gojo wasn’t even trying to laugh, but you trying to be somewhat “mean” was taking him out because you were nothing like that.

you were one of the kindest people he’d ever met, so this little act you had on was amusing to him.

“shit, im sorry!” he clutched his stomach, letting one last chuckle out before continuing. “it’s just.. you really think im falling for this little act of yours?”

your face was quick to scrunch up— finding every bit of his words disrespectful. but it was gojo, so what could you really expect? his bluntness would probably be the death of him.

“excuse me? need i remind you, we are not together anymore gojo!” your voice came out a lot shakier than you’d hoped for it to. what the hell was going on with you?

“well clearly i know that, or else i’d go and kill that fucker you were out with tonight.”

throwing your hands in the air you muttered a strand of curse words, it’s impossible to get through to someone as hard-headed as him. “please just see yourself out.”

before he could respond, you walked off toward your room. you didn’t have the energy to deal with him or his childish antics, he’d already managed to ruin your entire mood. all this did was remind you why you keep your heart locked away— because of arrogant assholes like him.

“there’s no need to be rude, y’know? i just wanna talk to my favorite girl.” gojo followed you to your room— just like you knew he would. god, he’s so annoying.

it looked the exact same as the last time he was here except for the empty wall where the pictures of him used to hang. he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make his chest heavy, and heart pang in sorrow. could you really have been done with him for good this time?

“whatever, just don’t get on my bed.. i don’t know where you’ve been.”

‘stalking you’ he chuckled to himself before completely disregarding your request, and plopping down on your bed anyways.

you decided not to scold him for doing exactly what you said not to do. that’s just who gojo was, no one could boss a man like him around.

you weren’t even being serious either. in hindsight, you really did enjoy having him around. as much as you hated to admit it.. it reminded you of the old times, when it was just you and him against the whole world.

“i missed you, y’know? you just up and left without a word.. and next thing i know im blocked.” even though he tried to hide it you could hear the pain in his voice. losing you was like losing a piece of him too, he couldn’t stand it. he couldn’t stand the way you made him feel.

the only reason the man was able to keep it together was because he was watching you, ensuring you weren’t completely out of his life.

it sounded crazy. hell— it was crazy, but when it came to you he’d do anything.

“i know.. & im sorry for the way i handled that. i just felt like we needed to move on, try new things…”

“i don’t want to try new things!” he scowled, quickly sitting up from the bed to face you. “i want you.. just you. that’s all i’ve ever wanted.”

the air was thick, and the room felt like it was caving in. your body was practically on fire listening to him say the words you’d been craving to hear.

“and about that date of yours..” he cooed, running his hands up your thighs and slowly spreading them. “we won’t be worrying about him anymore, will we?”

that little date was never a threat to gojo to begin with. both you and him knew that, but he took manners into his own hands just to mark his territory.

gojo made sure to corner the poor guy as soon as your date was over, and needless to say.. a few threats were all it took. you should be happy he didn’t do worse, it ran across his mind to kill the poor guy at first.

“i..if we do this then no more bullshit okay?” your soft hands gripped his chin as you forced his beautiful blue eyes to meet yours. “none of that childish stuff this time. we’re both grown so we need to act like it, we’ve had a whole year to fix ourselves.”

every time the two of you got back together it turned into complete chaos. gojo wasn’t the best man out there, and you weren’t the best woman. both of you had your own flaws regardless, but you two needed each other.

that was well established the first 10 times you guys broke up, and unsurprisingly you always ended up back in each other’s skin.

gojo’s gaze on you was heavy, almost as if he was trying to study your every breath and blink. all of the dumb, childish expressions on his face from before were far gone.

“yes princess, whatever you want.” he softly spoke as he sunk his head into the skin of your stomach, littering you with soft kisses. “i’ll do whatever you want..”

gojo spoke so gently— his voice softer than ever as he pushed you on your back, wrapping your legs around his shoulders.

you stared at him intently, waiting to see what he would do next. one thing about gojo was he always had something up his sleeve, and part of you knew where this was headed.

when his rough hands gripped the waistband of your flimsy skirt, you didn’t complain. actually you found yourself wanting more, longing for more.

“y’gonna let me get a taste baby? missed her s’much,” soft lips trailed up your thigh— leaving small bite imprints on the flesh. this was his way of staking his claim on you, marking you as his and only his.

you couldn’t stop the shaky sigh that fell from your lips, or the silent nod you gave to your ex-boyfriend for him to continue.

the grin that spread across his face was taunting almost, and intimidating. when that skirt of yours was out of the way, gojo moved on to the black-lace panties. his personal favorite.

“so what, you wearin’ these for other people now?” the fucking nerve of you, he couldn’t believe this. to stoop that low.. well that just won’t do. it seems like he had a few things to correct now that he was back. “fuckin’ answer me. be a good girl for me, yeah?”

your eyes locked with his and all you saw was silent fury, you could tell he was pissed. “not wearing them for anybody toru. just didn’t have any clean ones,”

a lazy grin covered his face at the remembrance of his old nickname, the way it fell from your lips so softly always managed to send heat straight to his dick.

he finally got his girl back.

faint kisses to your cunt had your legs shaking in anticipation— and the soft gasp that left your lips did nothing but egg gojo on as his tongue met your aching clit.

“pussy’s still fuckin’ pretty as ever,” with a low voice his eyes were closed shut, in hopes to savor every last bit of you. when his hands came up to your thighs he couldn’t resist the urge to spread them even further.

the man wanted to explore every inch of you since it’s been so long. so so long since he’s spent some personal time with that pretty pussy of yours.

“w..wait- fuck toru!” you whined when his lips found their way to your pulsing clit, folding his tongue up and down the gooey slit.

his assault to your pussy didn’t stop there. next his thumb was sliding down your sticky folds, not stopping until it was past your tight walls.

your mouth fell open at the intrusion. his thumb wasn’t long but it was thick, causing a bigger stretch than you’d expected.

“so good. taste’s s’good princess,” gojo mindlessly babbled, every word sending vibrations straight to your pussy.

gojo felt like he was out of his body. out of his mind, and he hadn’t even been inside you yet. just what the fuck were you doing to him?

finally fed up with the throbbing ache in his pants he latched onto your clit for a third time, giving it one last kiss before pulling away.

the man couldn’t wait any longer— he needed to be inside you, and he needed it now. before you knew it he was sliding off his sweats and everything underneath it, leaving him completely exposed.

your pussy throbbed just from the sight of him.. you didn’t know how much longer you could wait either.

“don’t worry mama, im ready for ya’.” a low chuckle left his throat when he saw you were just as desperate as him. “you ready for me?”

his blue eyes met your low ones when he slapped his tip against your folds. next he was sliding inside of your pulsing hole with ease, forcing your mouth open.

“o..oh my gosh!“ you winced at the familiar stretch, your walls involuntarily clenched around his dick— trying to push him out.

“n..no- fuck. none of that, y’hear me?” gojo whimpered at the feel of being squeezed, he couldn’t even move you were squeezing him so tight.

the man hovered over you, lips grazing your ear as he coaxed you. “let me in baby, you can do it. i know you can,” he whispered, wrapping his hand around your neck and resting it there.

his words of encouragement had you opening up quicker than he expected, and with every second he was inching deeper into your pussy. gojo felt like he was in a dream— or better yet, on cloud 9. after all that time you still feel the exact same, heavenly.

his strokes were gentle at first, but they sped up when he realized how long he was away from you. a whole year.. never again.

“n..never ever gonna let you keep this shit from me again.” gojo groaned with an edge in his voice that you couldn’t recognize.

your shaky hands wasted no time sliding under his shirt, feeling on the happy trail that covered his v-line. “not gonna take it away toru, ‘s all yours!”

gojo grinned at your words as he pressed onto your lower stomach. with his free hand he gripped onto the back of your thighs and brung your freshly done feet up to his mouth.

his lips wrapped around your toe— eyes locking with yours as he sucked on it. his strokes only got deeper, and you whimpered at all the different sensations at once.

“‘m not gonna pull out,” he admitted as he switched from sucking to leaving small kisses on your foot. “gonna cum so deep in this pretty pussy. never gonna leave me again.”

you were so out of it. drool everywhere, hair messy, tear stained cheeks.. anything gojo said went in one ear and out the other. the man could do whatever, you didn’t care.

“mm yes, don’t pull out. want it s’bad, fill me up please!” small whines filled your throat when you felt a familiar pressure in your abdomen, your pussy wrapping around him even tighter than before. how was this even possible?

gojo’s pace got faster, strokes sloppier.. he was slowly but surely losing all the sense of control he once had before. “f..fuckk ‘m gonna cum toru, so close!”

you gasped when his thumb flicked your clit, looking up at the blue eyes that never left your frame. your legs shook in overstimulation and you didn’t know how much longer you could hold it in.

“let it out mama, you’re okay. gimme all of it- shit.” he hissed as his dick twitched at how tight you were squeezing. “fuck fuck fuck, you’re gonna be such a pretty mama. s..such a pretty wifey, all f’me.”

you threw your head back as chills covered your entire body. the both of you were completely out of touch with reality, not caring about anything but the feeling of one another.

“‘m cumming toru! mhmm ‘m cumming,” you exclaimed, bringing your hand to his stomach. it wasn’t long before the built-up pit in your stomach finally snapped, coating his dick in a ring of your juices.

gojo was close behind you, a whimpering mess as his stomach tightened. before he knew it he was filling you up— spilling his load inside of you, not a drop to be wasted.

“f..fuck yeah. take it mama, it’s all yours. all for you.. gotta give you everything.” he chanted praises as he gave you one last stroke, pushing his cum even deeper into you where it belonged.

your voice was shaky when he called you, so shaky that at first you thought you wouldn’t be able to respond. but even so, you did.

“you’re never leaving me again, understand?” the edge in his voice was back, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your stomach do flips.

“yes toru, i understand.”

if there’s anything you learned from this at all.. it’s that you could never leave a man like gojo satoru.

©rissouu 2025 (this one’s for dulce y’all so thank her, it took me forever *sigh*)

[mandarinmoons]

Dessert

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem! reader Summary: Upon finding out that Spencer left his lunch at home reader heads over to The BAU to hand it over to him along with an extra sweet surprise Words: ~ 600 Warnings: None

“Spence, someone’s here to see you!”

Spencer looked up from his paperwork toward the voice that called him. He saw JJ near the doorway with another woman next to her, not a stranger, but someone he knew all too well. It was you.

As his eyebrows furrowed, Spencer stood up and made his way over to you. His work was the last place he expected you to show up, not that he wasn’t happy to see you, but his relationship to you wasn’t something he had mentioned to anyone, not even his mother.

You and Spencer had only been dating for a few months and with everything going extremely well during that time he still hadn’t told anyone on the team about you, and why should he? Spencer was a fairly private person and with how demanding and dangerous his job could be he didn’t want to open the door of horrors to you to keep you safe, to not scare you away. Everything was still so new, the highs of the honeymoon phase were still felt by the both of you and with Spencer’s life going down the way that it has, he was determined to make it last as long as he could. He needed a break from everything, as anyone else does, and being in your arms was his escape.

“Y/N, what’re you doing here?”

You chuckled as you held up a tupperware container to Spencer’s face, his confusion turning to realization in an instant.

“You forgot your lunch. I thought that I’d bring it over.”

Spencer cleared his throat and took the container in his hands, his eyes falling to the floor as he felt his teammates glance over at you both from across the bullpen. He felt his cheeks heat up and it was evident that he wasn’t going to be able to keep his sweet little secret under the wraps. With the room being filled with profilers, everyone was bound to know what role you played in Spencer’s life.

“Thank you, I appreciate it.”

Spencer’s lips were quick to turn into a small smile when he heard you chuckle and the smile grew wider when you took him in for a hug. Hugs were usually something Spencer wasn’t accustomed to, but he could never pass one up when it came from you.

Your arms wrapped around Spencer’s neck, your fingers lightly caressing the back of his nape making a shiver go down his spine. Spencer’s free hand went to rest on your lower back, his fingers copying your movements with his thumb caressing the fabric of your sweater, this is exactly what he needed to get through the day.

“Oh, don’t forget dessert.”

Before Spencer had a chance to question what you meant, your hands cupped his cheeks and Spencer froze as you peppered light kisses over his face. His eyes blinked rapidly as he took it in, his cheeks now on fire from the loving act.

Spencer watched as you waved at him goodbye and walked out the door, feeling as if his feet were glued to the floor as he wasn’t able to move. His gaze stuck to the doorway you departed from, hoping you’d perchance run back in for one last kiss.

Spencer felt a slap on his back and nearly jumped on the spot from the sensation, then hearing a familiar chuckle belonging to Derek and a sigh parted his lips, knowing what was bound to come next.

“You’ve got some explaining to do, player.”

You can find my masterlist here! Let me know your thoughts in the comments and like & reblog to support <3

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 8 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: How beautiful your life could be, if only you weren't so damaged and he wasn't so deranged. And despite all that, you can't help but want him and submit to his twisted desires. You also can't help but think something about him is more off than usual.

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder and rape, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation, mentions of sexual activities and desires, smut, (rough) oral sex, fingering, unprotected sex, degradation kink, mouth-spitting, dom/sub dynamics, daddy, not beta-read, if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

You felt a tight knot form in your stomach as you stared down at the blister in front of you.

Of course you knew it was necessary. You couldn’t imagine a more irresponsible thing than to conceive a child of a psychopath like him. And yet, you felt your thoughts wander down a dangerous path again.

He had never explicitly said he wanted you to take them. It was almost like a part of him was keen on getting you pregnant. Like the mere thought of filling you up again and again and again, serving the purpose of knocking you up, turned him on even more. And still, he bought them for you and left them on the kitchen table. It was your decision, you suddenly realized.

How irresponsible of him.

Didn’t he understand you were hardly able to even take care of yourself? Let alone a child.

Let alone birth a child.

There was actually nothing that scared you more. Not your mother, not him, not even the prospect of being sold off into some sick psychopaths’ fangs. Another psychopaths’.

No, the thought of having to bear a child, dying during the delivery or – God forbid, something going wrong and you losing it – was your worst fear.

You didn’t even know where the fear came from. It had simply always been there, even when you were a child.

Even when you thought you’d never have sex.

And now you had had sex. And he bought the pill, because he was considerate like that.

He was twisted and cruel, scary and sadistic and yet he put on this façade, this front, of a perfect man, whenever he wanted to. He paid bills and he owned this beautiful apartment. He was obviously well-read and he knew how to cook. He wasn’t a rapist. A murderer, yes. But not a rapist.

He was many things. One of them was always far more prominent than the others.

He was sick.

You couldn’t tell if he had been born like this or if there were things that happened which made him turn out the way he did. Whatever it was, he was sick now.

So far, you only had a hunch of the things he truly enjoyed. He had briefly mentioned some of them. Others you had guessed. The erection he got whenever he beat you was enough for you to realize he liked to hurt people.

He threatened you with words and objects more than once. A knife, a gun, a belt, a whip.

So far, so good, right? Many people were into pain, either receiving or delivering.

He was also into blood. For some reason, you could tell.

He enjoyed degrading you. Calling you names whenever he got angry, making you crawl around like a dog and drink from a bowl on the floor.

So far, he had always taken care of his insanity on his own. Treated the bulge in his pants with silence, ignoring it skillfully like it wasn’t there. But you saw it, felt its’ presence like a specter.

The one time you had sex had been nothing like you expected. The gentleness in his touch, his kisses on your neck and body and God, the sinful things he did with his tongue.

You remembered the feeling vividly and it immediately sent a shiver through your body. You took a soft breath and tried to focus back on the pill, but somehow your mind didn’t comply. You kept asking yourself, if you had somehow signed a death warrant when you agreed to be his girl.

You did it to survive, surely, but you slowly felt your resolve crumble. There was more to it, you acknowledged it. But you didn’t allow yourself to think about the things you felt, while you had sex. You blamed his gentle touch. His ardent kiss. The way he subtly threatened all the people who had ever wronged you.

You closed your eyes. God, what was going on in your head?

All you needed was a breath of fresh air to clear out your head.

Would you ever breathe real air again?

You wanted a family one day, didn’t you?

Now you couldn’t tell if you would ever get that. Looking back, it hadn’t been all too sure before he abducted you either. After all, all you ever did was hide yourself behind computer screens and book pages. But now you were here and he had taken that chance from you.

Or had he?

Would he ever let you go?

No. You remembered his words like the lyrics of a song you hated, yet it kept playing on the radio day and night.

I’ll never let you go.

And for some reason, you knew he didn’t just say that. He meant it. And you remembered what you thought when you first came here.

You wouldn’t ever leave this place. At least not alive.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard the front door open. Your head perked up and before he had the chance to enter the kitchen, you choked down the plan-b-pill with half a glass of water. You swallowed and stared down at the empty blister with wide eyes.

You had to play along, yes. But you couldn’t give him some foolish, twisted hope for something that just wasn’t an option.

The kitchen door opened and he came inside, his briefcase still in his hand. He looked down at you, taking in your flushed expression and his gaze wandered down to the empty blister. A faint hint of recognition flashed over his handsome features, followed by something you were sure was disappointment. But he schooled his expression so quickly, it immediately reminded you of the instability of his mind.

He tilted his head to the side and smiled at you. You couldn’t quite grasp the meaning behind the smile. It most likely wasn’t genuine. When had it ever been?

“Darling”, he said in a soft tone. Then he did something that made your chest ache. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. You felt like throwing up. You were sure you were stuck in some kind of cruel video game, a sick simulation of yet another psychopath who enjoyed torturing poor, deranged girls. Girls who never had a chance anyway.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and tried to smile back, but it was indeed a failed attempt.

Things were somewhat less tense between you, since you had sex. Sometimes he let you speak your mind without hurting you in return. And sometimes, like that day, he came home and kissed you. Like you were a normal couple.

Like you were a couple at all.

It was painful. Because, no matter how hard you tried to shut the dangerous thoughts out, they always snuck their way back into your head.

He would have made the perfect man, if only he was normal.

If only he was human.

And if only you were, too.

He turned away from you and set the briefcase down on a chair, before he washed his hands. You couldn’t help but stare. It looked so normal, almost innocent.

A man who came home and the first thing he did was to wash his hands.

A man to fall in love with.

You forced your gaze away.

“Did you eat anything today?” He asked matter-of-factly, without even looking at you.

You still nodded. “There were a few of these things left. You know, the ones that look like sushi, but aren’t.”

“Gimbap.”

“Gimbap.” You repeated and he smirked.

He dried his hands and turned to look at you. “That’s all you ate today?”

You shrugged and he sighed. “How did you even survive up until now?”

You thought about it. Breakfast was easy. Back in England even. But lunch was where it got hard. You either ate leftovers or nothing. It was like you were unable to cook if it was for you only.

As if you were unable to exist properly when you were alone.

It made you realize how empty your days were whenever he left. You spent most of your time waiting for him, reading or crying and brooding over the horror that was your life.

But even before that, even before him, you had barely functioned on your own.

It was like your depression got worse, the longer you were alone.

It didn’t matter that your mother was the devil in human form, at least you ate when she was around.

Whenever she’d let you.

At some point in your life, you learned to really appreciate food, especially when it was homecooked. You weren’t good at this. You didn’t doubt that you could cook and all that, you just didn’t know how to really live.

A part of you appreciated the numbness even more for that exact reason. Your sadness was your solace, your darkness your shelter.

You didn’t need to worry about existing, when you weren’t really there. It was just a body trying to keep itself alive, while your soul floated around in non-existence.

A small frown formed on his face and he stepped closer, resting his hands on your shoulders. You had almost grown accustomed to his touch by now.

You could tell when to expect a blow and when not.

In most cases.

Was now the time?

“Go, take a bath.” He purred in your ear. “I’ll make dinner.”

You closed your eyes and suddenly you were all too aware again. The thought you had so skillfully avoided since that night.

Today was the day.

The night, actually.

And he’d finally get to have his way with you.

The thought equally sent a warm shiver as well as cold sweat spiraling down your skin.

“Alright.” You murmured and got up. You exhaled a soft sigh and before you left turned back to face him once more. He was still looking at you, the soft, seductive smile on his lips. But his eyes were narrowed in a way that told you there was indeed more on his mind than he let on.

You forced yourself to look away and leave the room. Within a few minutes, you prepared yourself a bath and with a soft sigh sank into the warm water. It felt like a gentle embrace, which was so very needed after everything you went through every day.

You allowed yourself to close your eyes and try to relax for once.

He had kindly repaired the door and put it back in its place to give you a semblance of privacy, but he didn’t restore the lock.

You didn’t get the privilege of ultimate privacy.

You kept your eyes closed as you tried to imagine what tonight would bring.

Mostly, you dreaded it.

He’d be cruel.

He’d be selfish.

You’d wake up the next morning, feeling battered and bruised.

So not much different from how it had been so far. Except for that one night. But as much as you loved to think back at it and revel in the memory, you knew it would be more clever to try and erase it from your mind.

That had never happened.

He had never kissed your neck or the inside of your thighs.

He had never called you princess.

Never taken your virginity with such gentleness and care.

Your brows furrowed and you felt your hand itch to move down your body, when you heard the faint knock on the bathroom door. Your eyes shot open and your first reaction was to cover yourself.

What a ridiculous thought, but you still fumbled for a towel. When he came in and witnessed that, you all wet and reaching for a towel you would never reach in time, he raised a brow and smirked. He had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves again in that way that made you weak.

When you finally realized you wouldn’t reach the towel without breaking your neck, you instead delved back down into the water, keeping your gaze on him.

“You’re still shy around me. How cute.”

You attempted to shoot him a glare, but that worked about as good as your smile did earlier.

“Did you want something?”

He hummed and slowly inched closer, as he let his gaze shamelessly rake over your body in a way that made you feel hot and cold all the same.

“Actually, yes.” He purred as he slowly leaned down to get a better look at your wet, shivering form. The warm water didn’t prevent him from staring at you and it didn’t prevent you from feeling exposed and excited under his gaze.

“You looked so miserable earlier. I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

You immediately frowned. That was hardly the reason. As gentle as he happened to be sometimes, he wasn’t caring or soft like that. Or even genuine.

He was cold and cruel and psychotic.

“I’m-“

Your words died on your tongue when suddenly he slid his hand under the water surface. It didn’t take him two seconds to force your legs apart and slide his fingers over your already slick core.

You inhaled sharply and your brows furrowed in a mixture of surprise, embarrassment and arousal. You looked up at him with half-lidded, confused eyes.

“I thought…after dinner”, was all you managed to gasp out.

He hummed in response. No muscle on his face moved as he slowly slid his index finger inside you, curling it torturously.

“Oh God.”

It didn’t take him longer than a few seconds to have you writhe and moan. You had quickly noticed that he was good at what he was doing. He knew where to touch you, how to move his fingers and when to use his tongue instead. He knew exactly how to roll his hips. When to be rough and when gentle.

The thought filled you with as much relief as it filled you with jealousy.

There had been others before. That was all you could think about.

It wasn’t the fact that he barged into the bathroom and took control of your body whenever he pleased, that bothered you. It was the thought that he might have done this to someone else before he met you.

And the thought made you feel nauseous with jealousy.

You almost wanted to be angry at him, for being able to, for having the audacity to have had someone else before you.

While he was the only one who ever took you.

The only one who ever parted your lips with his tongue.

The only one who had ever felt you around him, envelop him and take him in like he belonged there.

You wanted to stay angry, but his fingers did things to you that clouded your mind. Your eyes rolled back and you were nearly there.

“Please-“

But the next moment, you let out a desperate whine, when you felt him swiftly withdraw his hand.

“Please…”

He smirked.

“Please what, sweet girl?”

Your face flushed furiously and you looked down at the bath water.

The spell was intact again. And you were unable to speak your wicked mind.

“Look at me.” He said in a rather firm tone. You immediately did. His eyes were a mixture of curiosity and wariness. He narrowed them slightly.

“Say it.”

You wanted to bite your lip and avert your gaze, but the way he stared down at you with such an intensity made you reconsider.

“Please let me cum.” You whispered in a voice that was hardly your own.

He hummed. He was obviously pleased and the smirk was back.

“Please let you cum, what?”

Since he didn’t have a name, he made you choose between Daddy and Sir, whenever one felt like it made any sense in the situation.

Daddy was far more embarrassing, but also more intimate.

Calling him Sir felt more degrading though. Which was something he probably liked.

You didn’t know which one was worse, so you always went for the one that fit the aesthetic of the moment best.

“Please let me cum, daddy.” You whispered, your face red.

He chuckled. A horrible sound.

A beautiful sound.

“Good girl.”

He slid his hand back down and instantly you felt his finger back inside you, before he slowly added a second one. It was enough to let you release a soft sigh and lean your head against the edge of the tub.

It was so easy to relax when he had you like this.

You could always count on him to make you cum.

And that was exactly what he did. He moved his fingers inside you in such a pleasurable and skilled way, that he had you writhing and begging within a few more seconds. An explosive wave of warmth and bliss filled you, while you arched your hips up against his hand, desperately seeking the friction and the release that only he could give to you.

You had never felt anything close to this before.

Once you slowly came down from your high, you took a moment to regain your ability to breathe and then you slowly opened your eyes.

You looked up at him and the way he smirked down at you with such smugness. It made you want to punch and kiss him.

“Thank me.” He whispered.

You swallowed. It was always far more embarrassing afterwards. “Thank you for making me cum, daddy.”

He bared his teeth in a grin. “Good girl. Now, open your mouth for me.”

You didn’t even have the time to digest his words, when you already felt him push his fingers in your mouth. A soft gasp came over your lips as he parted them and rubbed his fingers over your tongue, making you taste yourself on him.

Were you supposed to be embarrassed or repulsed? Probably. But all you truly felt was how the arousal slowly began to build again. The heat pooled between your legs whenever he got like this. Demanding, rough, but also gracious enough to let you cum.

You moaned when he pushed his fingers deeper in, all the while he had his eyes fixed on your face. His lips were slightly parted and there was a thoughtful frown on his face, as he began to fuck your mouth with his fingers, making saliva drip down your chin.

You choked back the gag that threatened to escape and forced yourself to keep looking at him, despite the way your eyes watered and slowly got more and more red.

“Come out.” He whispered. “Come out of the tub. On your knees.”

You withdrew your mouth from his hand, only to hold onto his arm and get up in a hurry, not caring that you got everything wet.

It was what he did to you all the time, anyway.

You knelt down on the cold bathroom floor, ignoring the ache between your legs. Had you just released? You couldn’t tell. You already felt desperate for him again.

He made you do this every so often, kneel and look up at him like an obedient little doll. Suck on his fingers and look into his eyes.

But he’d never gone further than that. Until now. You could tell. Now was different.

And it made you as nervous, as it turned you on.

“Take my belt off.” He whispered.

You forced your gaze away from his face just long enough to slowly unbuckle his belt. Your fingers were shaking against the leather. The nervousness won.

When you kept fidgeting with it restlessly, he gently stopped you and pushed your hands down and instead, did it himself. He got rid of the belt within seconds and it landed on the ground with a soft click. His slacks followed in a swift movement, until all there was left separating you was the thin material of his boxers.

His hardness strained against them and you found yourself aching to free him of them.

You had never known you were so terribly wicked.

And you were sure you hadn’t been, until you met him.

You hadn’t had any form of sex aside from the way he sometimes teased you and fingered you to oblivion ever since that night. He wanted to give you some time to adjust to your new role as his girl.

His princess. His fucktoy.

And now here you were. On your knees, wet as hell and desperate to feel him.

The memory of that night shot back into your head and it made you ache again. You remembered how you had expected him to send you back to your room. To just be finished with you and get rid of you like you were nothing more than a toy he’d use whenever he felt like it.

But instead he let you stay. You had spent the night curled up against his side, feeling his heart beat next to yours.

He was so terribly confusing.

Of course you didn’t find any sleep that night. And he probably didn’t either. You were unable to fully trust him, despite your gentle and considerate encounter. And he was probably unsure if he had broken you enough to not try and slit his throat in the middle of the night.

Maybe he’d trust you fully one day.

You liked to think that.

His voice pulled you out of your thoughts again. “Kiss me.”

You licked your lips in a desperate attempt to fight the dryness of your mouth, but nothing worked. So instead you took a shaky breath and slowly leaned in. You brushed your lips over the waistband of his boxers and slowly, so very slowly, moved them further down. By the time they reached his arousal, you felt him breathe out a moan.

“Take them off.” He murmured. “And I don’t want to see your hands for the time being.”

You could imagine what that meant. With a shaky breath, you slowly brought your hands behind your back and dug your nails into your wrists.

Oh God, he would ravage you.

And oh God, you wanted him to.

You bit down on the material and tried to carefully pull the boxers down. It took you two more attempts, but eventually you managed to pull them down to his knees and then they slid off of him on their own. You pulled your head back and were greeted by the sight of his hardened cock, throbbing and waiting to ruin you even more.

Your heart skipped a beat and your chest heaved rapidly under the weight of your nervous breaths. You licked your lips again. This time, they weren’t dry.

You slowly looked up at him, your eyes wide and nervous.

He didn’t mock or tease you this time. He seemed more focused and stern than ever before.

You felt his fingers tangle in your hair and gently curl up in it.

“Worship me.”

The words were enough to draw a soft whimper from your lips.

“I’m not sure, how.” You murmured.

He shook his head. “You’ll figure it out.”

You swallowed again and nodded before you slowly let your gaze wander down again.

Even his cock was perfect.

You took a deep breath and leaned in. The moment you brushed your lips over the tip, he exhaled a soft moan. You closed your eyes.

Fucking hell.

You slowly moved your lips down his length and back up again, unsure how to start and where.

The feeling of him on your lips was enough to drive you insane and you caught yourself wanting more. You were nervous, but also eager.

You wanted to watch him throw his head back in pleasure and call out your…well, however he would call you.

When he got a little impatient, he bucked his hips and you felt him press forward and slowly part your lips on his own. A moan came over your lips when you felt him slowly press further and further forward, until he bumped against the warm wetness of your tongue.

“Ah, yes.”

The sounds he made were enough to motivate you further. You opened your mouth wider and coated him in your saliva, feeling him go slick and throb against your tongue. His hand in your hair tightened and he pulled you closer against him.

You hummed against him and slowly wrapped your lips around him, sucking gently and moving up and down like you’d seen in countless videos.

His grip only ever got tighter and God, the sounds he made.

You tried to glance up at him as he moved. The reaction to your touch was written on his face. He bit down on his lip and stared down at you with a focused frown.

You felt so dirty and sinful, naughty and wicked and every time he bucked his hips up, you were sure you felt yourself get close without even being touched.

“Good girl.” He breathed out. “My good girl. My dirty girl. Let me fuck your pretty mouth.”

His hand tightened even more in your hair, until his grip was bordering on painful. He held your head in place as he began to move his hips, thrusting against your mouth like a madman. You found yourself in a chokehold, gagging against him and desperately gasping for air. All the while you were sure you felt your own arousal slowly drip down your thighs. You had a hard time keeping your hands behind your back.

All you wanted was to touch yourself. But you knew better than to try that.

He roughly pulled your head back by your hair and you had to suppress a wince of pain. You were about to ask what the hell was going on, when he gritted out: “Open your mouth.”

You immediately obeyed, parting your swollen, aching lips for him. You knew what was coming, you knew he would degrade you and you didn’t mind.

You would probably hate yourself afterwards, like you normally did when you fantasized about such things. But in that moment, you didn’t care the least bit. You wanted to make him feel good. You wanted to make him cum. You wanted to please him.

You opened your mouth and just a second later you felt his saliva slide past your lips, gliding down your tongue. An involuntary moan came over your lips and your brows furrowed as you stared up at him, feeling a myriad of emotions.

“Good girl. Swallow.”

Your mouth fell shut and you obeyed. You swallowed his spit like a good girl.

His good girl.

His girl.

The sound he made was torturous. A moan mixed with a sigh.

“Yes, just like that.” He murmured. “Fuck, yes. Suck me off, baby. Make me cum.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You parted your lips and took him back in. He kept bucking his hips against you, but you were determined to meet him halfway.

Fighting against the gagging and the small scare you got whenever you felt like you couldn’t breathe, you kept moving. Again and again, flicking your tongue against him and moaning against him, until you felt him tense up. His grip on your hair became so hard, it felt like he was trying to rip your hair out. All the while his painfully hard cock throbbed against your tongue.

And then he came.

You felt him coat your mouth and throat with his seed, causing you to moan at the intensity and surprise of it.

He was shaking and grunting in pleasure, keeping himself pressed against you as tight as possible, until the throbbing began to subside slowly.

He licked his lips, since his own mouth seemed to be pretty dry by now and finally released his tight grip on your hair. Instead he soothingly rubbed his fingertips along your scalp and sighed deeply.

“Fuck.” He breathed out. “Show me your mouth.”

It took you a moment, but you swallowed the evidence of his lustful outburst and eventually opened your mouth to show him it was empty.

He hummed in approval and gently cupped your cheek in his hand. You found yourself leaning into his touch like a cat craving attention.

“My good girl.” He praised in a soft whisper. “God, you’re so good for me. I-“

He frowned deeply and stopped himself. You quickly looked up at him.

Oh God, you had done something wrong.

Oh, no, no, no, not right now, damn it.

But the dreaded yell never came and he also didn’t attempt to push you back or slap you. Instead he cleared his throat and gently pulled you back up to your feet.

“You enjoy being my girl, don’t you?”

You stared at him speachlessly. What were you supposed to say to that? And why was he asking that right now?

Despite the whirlwind of emotions and thoughts you had, you found yourself nodding.

“Good.” He said quietly and gently caressed your cheek.

Something was off. Something was always off, but now, you were sure you had no connection to his thoughts whatsoever. You could never really tell what he was thinking, but sometimes you got lucky and got a glimpse of whatever it was he hid behind nonchalance and psychopathy.

Or was that truly all that there was to him?

He pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “Come. We have a bath to finish.”

He got rid of his shirt and within seconds submerged under the water. You watched him with a thoughtful expression, before you quietly followed him. You sat with your back pressed against his chest.

He would say something cruel.

He couldn’t be gentle, without having a cruel jab follow. He just couldn’t.

But all you felt was how he slowly poured some warm water over your hair, before he gently massaged the shampoo into your scalp.

The same scalp he had just bruised while he used you like a doll.

He washed the water out and it felt like a piece of Heaven. You allowed yourself to close your eyes and lean back against him.

If only every moment of your life could be like this.

“I never knew you could be so wicked.” He whispered as he began to gently massage your shoulders. You sighed at the touch. Another thing he was so skilled at.

Another thing to get jealous over.

His words made your face flush and you suddenly remembered how you had writhed in agony while he used your mouth, how your fingers had ached to touch yourself.

“I…”

“I like that side of you.” He murmured without taking his hands off you. “When you let go, I mean. I can tell you’re enjoying it. You’re just too ashamed to think about it.”

When you didn’t respond, he leaned closer and his breath tickled your ear when he whispered.

He was indeed the devil.

Beautiful, dangerous and manipulative.

“Don’t worry, my sweet girl. I’ll make you overcome that, too.”

_____________________________________________________

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[ch0llies]

EARNED IT | MATTHEW STURNIOLO

brothersbestfriend!matt x innocent!reader

You’re an 18-year-old high school senior, the innocent little sister of Matt’s best friend. Which means off-limits in every way. But 22-year-old college hockey player, Matt can’t ignore the way you cling to him, asking dangerous questions with trusting eyes. You don’t understand the fire you’re playing with- but Matt does. And he’s burning to teach you what happens when you get too close.

story warnings: heavy make out, lowkey corruption kink (if u squint), brothers best friend, pet names (sweetheart, angel), age gap (four years), etc. all characters are of age. If any of these topics upset you...don't read!

word count: 7k

a/n: i didn’t go into this with the intention of creating a similar story but as i read it over I’m realizing it’s very similar to an @ariestrxsh fic with the same trope. click here to read the first chapter of that! it’s very good and I recommend strongly!

You stand in front of the hallway mirror, tugging at the hem of your navy-blue dress, smoothing the fabric with your palms. The dress fits snugly, a little more mature than what you’re used to, but tonight isn’t just any night. It’s the sports award banquet. Your brother and Matt’s banquet. And your dad only let you tag along under the condition that you “stay out of trouble.”

But it wasn’t exactly you who he was worried about.

A sharp knock echoes from the front door.

“Get the fuckin’ door!” your brother shouts from upstairs.

“Okay, okay!” You huff, your heels clicking against the hardwood floor as you rush to answer.

When you unlock it, the bitter January air bites at your exposed skin, sending a chill down your spine. Matt stands in the doorway, hand raised mid-knock, his dark brows lifting when he takes you in.

His smirk is slight but enough to notice. “Well, don’t you look all grown up,” he muses, voice low and teasing. Then, without warning, he reaches out and ruffles the top of your freshly styled hair.

You scrunch your nose but let him, even though you just spent the better part of an hour curling it.

“Jesus, Matt,” you huff, stepping aside so he can come in. The cold air follows him as he shrugs off his coat, revealing a navy-blue suit, just a shade darker than your dress. You swallow, watching through the mirror as he tugs at his tie.

“You coming with us?” His voice is lighter now, curious but knowing.

“Yep! Daddy said I could tag along if I behave.” You smile, turning back to your reflection, smoothing your hair again.

Matt exhales a quiet chuckle, stepping closer behind you, his presence warm despite the winter air still clinging to him. You watch as he adjusts his tie in the mirror, his fingers long and practiced.

“You gonna behave then, sweetheart?” His eyes flick to yours in the reflection, amusement flickering behind them.

You nod, standing up straighter, suddenly aware of the way he towers over you. It’s always been like this. Him looking down at you, you looking up. The age gap was something your brother had always made a big deal about. ”Too old for you.” “Off limits.”

But Matt never seemed to care about that.

Your breath catches when his hand moves again, messing up your hair on purpose this time.

“Matt!” you whine, swatting his arm as you twist away. “I just fixed that.”

He grins, tongue running along his front teeth as he watches you pout. “Relax, kid, you still look pretty.”

Your stomach flips at that.

Before you can say anything, your brother’s voice rings out from upstairs. “Matty B! Get your ass up here!”

Matt sighs dramatically, shooting you one last glance before jogging up the stairs. You watch him go, your fingers tightening slightly around the fabric of your dress.

The banquet hall is grand, chandeliers casting a warm glow over round tables covered in crisp white linen. The clinking of glasses and laughter fills the air as athletes and their families mingle, celebrating another season of victories. You follow closely behind your brother and Matt, your heels clicking on the marble floor as you take in the scene with wide eyes.

Your brother spots your dad near the head table and heads off with a wave. “Don’t get into trouble,” he mutters over his shoulder.

“I never do,” you chirp back, but he’s already gone.

Matt stays beside you, his hand hovering at your lower back in a way that feels protective, almost possessive, but he never actually touches you.

“You stick with me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, eyes scanning the room. “Don’t need you getting eaten alive in here.”

You blink up at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

But before he can answer, a familiar voice interrupts.

“Damn, Y/N.”

You turn to see Jackson, one of your brother’s teammates, grinning at you like he’s just won something. “Didn’t know you cleaned up this nice.”

Matt stiffens beside you, but you don’t notice, too busy beaming at the compliment. “Thank you, Jackson! You look nice too.”

Jackson smirks, stepping closer. “You should let me take you out sometime. We could grab dinner, maybe see a movie, head back to my place?”

Before you can answer, Matt shifts slightly, his broad frame stepping just enough into the space between you and Jackson to make it clear. “She’s not interested,” he says casually, though there’s an unmistakable edge to his voice.

Jackson’s smirk falters. “She can answer for herself, can’t she?”

You glance between them, feeling a little lost. “I mean… I do like movies.”

Matt exhales sharply, running a hand down his face before placing it firmly on your lower back, actually touching you this time. “C’mon, angel. Let’s find our table.” His grip is gentle but insistent, steering you away before Jackson can say anything else.

As you walk away, you glance up at him. “That was kinda rude.”

Matt scoffs. “No, sweetheart. That was necessary.”

You frown but don’t push it, too distracted by the sight of the massive dessert table at the far end of the room. “Ooh! Can we get something sweet?”

His jaw clenches, but he nods. “Yeah, sure.”

Before you even make it halfway there, another one of your brother’s teammates- Tyler- sidles up beside you, grinning.

“Hey, Y/N,” he drawls, eyes trailing over your dress in a way that makes Matt’s fingers twitch against your back. “Didn’t think I’d see you here tonight.”

“My daddy let me come,” you say cheerfully. “It’s so fun! I didn’t know it’d be this fancy.”

Tyler smirks. “Your daddy, huh? You look real good all dressed up. Bet you’ve got guys falling all over you tonight.”

You blink. “Huh? Oh no, I just came with Matt and my brother.”

Matt sighs, long and slow. “Yeah, and she’s leaving with us too. Right, sweetheart?”

You nod, completely missing the way Matt glares daggers at Tyler. “Yep! Daddy said I had to go home when they do.”

Tyler chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s a shame. If you ever wanna have a little fun after curfew, you know who to call.”

You tilt your head. “Fun? Like… Games or…?”

Tyler lets out a loud laugh, but before he can respond, Matt steps in front of you completely, his voice dropping dangerously low. “Walk away, Tyler.”

Tyler holds his hands up in mock surrender, still grinning. “Relax, man. Just messing around.”

Matt doesn’t budge. Doesn’t smile. Doesn’t blink.

Tyler’s grin fades slightly before he turns and disappears back into the crowd.

You tug on Matt’s sleeve, pouting. “Why are you being so mean tonight?”

Matt exhales through his nose, looking down at you with something unreadable in his expression. “I’m not being mean, angel. Just looking out for you.”

You huff but let it go when you finally reach the dessert table, distracted by a chocolate fountain. “Oh my gosh! Look at this!”

Matt watches as you grab a skewer and dip a marshmallow into the melted chocolate, completely oblivious to the attention you’re getting from half the room.

His jaw tenses as he glances around, making sure no one else even thinks about coming near you.

Your brother would kill him if he knew how he was feeling right now. But as you happily hum while licking melted chocolate from your fingers, utterly unaware of the way his entire body is locked up with restraint- Matt knows he’s in trouble.

Big, big trouble.

The banquet is in full swing as the night goes on, the energy in the room buzzing with excitement as awards are handed out. Your brother wins MVP, grinning as he walks up to accept his plaque, you and the rest of the crowd erupting in applause. Matt wins Best Defensive Player, and when his name is called, you clap so enthusiastically that he shoots you a look- amused but slightly exasperated.

“Calm down, angel,” he murmurs as he sits back down, placing his award on the table.

“I’m proud of you,” you say, grinning.

Matt shakes his head, but there’s a softness in his eyes as he nudges your knee under the table.

Throughout dinner, glasses of champagne are passed around, and even though Matt gives you a warning look, you take one anyway.

“It’s just one,” you assure him, lifting the flute to your lips.

“That’s not just one,” he mutters as you reach for another a little while later.

But you don’t listen. The bubbles tickle your throat, making you giggle, and before long, there’s a slight warmth settling over you, your limbs loosening, the room feeling lighter, happier.

Matt groans when you sip your third glass. “Jesus Christ, sweetheart.”

Your brother, too busy celebrating with his teammates, doesn’t even notice.

Matt does, though. Matt always notices.

By the time the banquet winds down, you’re giggling at everything, eyes bright as your dad rounds everyone up to leave.

The ride home is quiet, the hum of the car filling the space. Your dad drives, your brother is on your left, and Matt is on your right. Somehow, you’ve ended up in the middle seat, legs tucked under you, your body loose and relaxed from the champagne.

You lean against Matt’s shoulder, sighing dramatically. “M’so sleepy.”

Matt stiffens, his whole body going rigid.

“You shouldn’t have had all that champagne,” he murmurs, voice low, almost strained.

You ignore him, nuzzling into his arm like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “But it tasted so good.”

Your brother snorts. “You’re such a lightweight.”

You pout, shifting slightly, pressing even closer to Matt. You don’t realize what you’re doing, the way your fingers absentmindedly trace patterns on his forearm, the way your cheek presses against the fabric of his jacket, how warm he is.

Matt notices.

His jaw is clenched so tight it aches. He keeps his hands firmly planted on his thighs, muscles tense as he stares straight ahead. You’re touching him like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t mean anything. But to him?

It means everything.

Your fingers graze his wrist, and he exhales through his nose, shifting slightly in his seat, trying to put some distance between you. But you just follow, draping an arm over his bicep, your cheek now resting against his shoulder.

“You smell so nice,” you sigh, voice hazy, drunk and sweet.

Matt swears under his breath.

Your brother doesn’t notice. He’s too busy scrolling through his phone, occasionally grumbling about some play he should’ve gotten more credit for.

But Matt? He’s suffering.

Because you’re all soft touches and sleepy sighs, completely unaware of the fact that every innocent little move you make is driving him insane.

You shift again, snuggling impossibly closer. “You’re so comfy, Matty.”

Matt groans so quietly only you hear it. “Jesus.”

You blink up at him, bleary-eyed. “Hmm?”

“Nothing.” His voice is tight.

You smile, resting your head against his shoulder again, your fingers still tracing those mindless little patterns on his arm. “You’re so nice to me.”

Matt closes his eyes briefly, inhaling sharply through his nose.

If only you knew.

When you get home, the house is quiet, the air thick with the lingering chill of the winter night. Your dad mutters something about heading to bed, your brother and Matt trudging up the stairs after him.

You follow, still tipsy, still warm from the champagne, your limbs loose and slow as you move.

Matt is staying over, just like he always does after big game nights or events. He and your brother disappear into his room while you shuffle to yours, sighing as you peel off your dress, trading it for an oversized t-shirt- one that falls mid-thigh, barely covering your underwear. You tug on a pair of thigh-high socks, cozying up against the cold air before slipping on your blue light glasses, needing something to steady your still-spinning vision.

You head to the bathroom, flipping on the light, humming softly as you brush your teeth.

The door creaks open, and Matt steps in, rubbing his face tiredly before freezing in place when he sees you.

His eyes sweep over you, taking in your messy hair, the oversized tee hanging off your frame, the way your socks cling to your thighs. His jaw ticks, but he says nothing, just clears his throat before stepping toward the sink.

“Didn’t know you were in here,” he murmurs, voice rough with exhaustion- or maybe something else.

You shrug, toothpaste foaming at the corners of your mouth. “S’okay. I don’t mind.”

Matt huffs a quiet laugh, turning on the faucet to wash his hands. “You should be in bed, angel.”

You lean against the counter, tilting your head. “Matt?”

He grabs a towel, drying his hands before meeting your gaze in the mirror. “Yeah?”

You blink at him, expression slightly dazed. “Why were all those guys acting weird tonight?”

He stiffens slightly. “Weird how?”

You frown, thinking. “Like… they kept talking to me. Saying things that didn’t make sense.” You pause, then look up at him, brows furrowed. “What did they want?”

Matt exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “They were flirting with you, sweetheart. They thought you were pretty.”

Your nose scrunches. “Oh.” You tilt your head. “But you flirt with me too, right?”

His fingers flex against the counter. “Not like they do.”

You narrow your eyes. “You think I’m pretty too, right?”

Matt lets out a slow breath, gripping the edge of the sink. “Yeah, angel,” he murmurs, his voice strained. “I do.”

You blink, processing. “Then why does it matter?”

Matt turns, leaning back against the counter, arms crossing over his broad chest. His gaze is steady, dark in a way that makes your stomach flutter.

“Because they don’t just think you’re pretty,” he says carefully. “They want to sleep with you.”

You stare, heart skipping. “Oh.”

Matt watches your expression shift, your lips part slightly as realization starts to settle.

“They-” You swallow. “They wanted to… have sex with me?”

His jaw tightens. “Yeah, angel. That’s what they wanted.”

Your cheeks burn instantly, your fingers gripping the hem of your oversized t-shirt. “Oh.”

Matt studies you, the way your breath hitches slightly, the way your eyes flicker down before snapping back up.

“You really didn’t know?” he asks, voice gentler now.

You shake your head quickly. “No, I- I just thought they were being nice.”

Matt exhales a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re somethin’ else, sweetheart.”

Your fingers fidget with the fabric of your shirt, your face still warm. “I didn’t- ” You hesitate. “I don’t really… talk about this kind of stuff.”

“I know.” His voice is soft, understanding.

You shift on your feet, gnawing at your lower lip. “I mean… I know what it is. But I don’t-” You trail off, exhaling sharply. “I don’t get it.”

Matt tilts his head slightly, his gaze heavy but patient. “What don’t you get?”

You chew on your lip again, hesitating before blurting, “Why do they want to?”

Matt blinks. “What?”

You huff, flustered now. “Like… why do guys want to do that so much? I don’t get it.”

Matt runs a hand down his face, clearly trying to stay composed. “Because it feels good.”

You inhale sharply, your face burning hotter. “Oh.”

Your heart stammers in your chest, something thick and unfamiliar sitting heavy in the space between you.

You grip the counter. “Have you…” You hesitate, then force the words out. “Have you done it?”

Matt’s lips twitch slightly, amused despite himself. “Yeah, sweetheart. I have.”

Your stomach flips, something strange curling in your gut. “Oh.”

He smirks. “That bother you?”

Your face flames. “N-no! I just-” You fumble, shaking your head quickly. “I just… I didn’t know.”

For a second, neither of you move. The space between you is thick with something you don’t quite understand, something unspoken but heavy. His gaze lingers, his expression unreadable, and it makes you fidget.

Your fingers play with the hem of your oversized t-shirt, twisting the fabric nervously. You don’t even realize that it hikes up slightly, exposing more of your bare thighs, the soft curve of them accentuated by your thigh-high socks. But Matt notices.

His eyes flicker down for the briefest second before snapping back up.

You hesitate, then softly say, “Matt?”

His jaw tenses. “Yeah?”

Your eyes stay fixed on the way your fingers pull at the fabric of your shirt. “Does it… really feel good?”

Matt’s breath is slow, measured. “Yeah, angel,” he murmurs. “It does.”

You shift on your feet, heat creeping up your neck. “Like… how?”

His lips part slightly, and for the first time tonight, he looks caught off guard. He drags a hand down his face, exhaling through his nose like he’s trying to gather himself.

“It’s- ” He stops, searching for the right words. “It’s different for everyone, but it’s… intense.”

You swallow, your fingers still gripping your shirt. “Intense how?”

His eyes darken slightly, his voice dropping a little lower. “It’s a kind of pressure. A build-up. And then… release.”

Your stomach flips, your whole body suddenly feeling too warm. “Oh.”

Matt watches you carefully, taking in the way your breath has gone a little shallower, the way your fingers fidget with your shirt again, lifting the fabric another inch before you even realize it. His eyes flicker down, then back up, something sharp flashing in them for a second before he schools his expression.

“Angel,” he says slowly. “You ever… thought about it before?”

You blink up at him, dazed. “Thought about what?”

His jaw clenches slightly. “Sex.”

Your breath catches, your entire body heating at the way the word rolls off his tongue so casually, like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t make your knees feel weak.

“I- ” You shift on your feet. “I mean, I know about it.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Matt murmurs.

You feel like your face is on fire. “I don’t- ” You bite your lip, exhaling shakily. “I don’t think so.”

Matt hums, tilting his head. “You don’t think so?”

You frown slightly, trying to collect your thoughts, but your mind is a mess, spinning, hazy from champagne and the weight of this conversation. “I just don’t really-” You shift again, your thighs pressing together instinctively. “I don’t get it.”

Matt watches the movement, his throat bobbing slightly before he lifts his gaze back to yours. “What don’t you get, angel?”

You hesitate, feeling impossibly small under his gaze. “Why people want it so much,” you admit, voice softer now, almost unsure.

Matt exhales slowly. “Because it feels good, sweetheart. It’s the closest you can get to someone. And when it’s with the right person…” He trails off for a second, then looks at you intently. “It’s really good.”

You shiver, despite the heat curling in your stomach. “What does it feel like?”

Matt’s fingers twitch at his sides, like he wants to do something with them but won’t let himself.

“You really wanna know?” he asks, voice lower now, rougher.

You nod, swallowing hard.

He leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “It starts slow,” he murmurs. “Your body gets all warm, all needy.” His eyes flicker down to the way you’re fidgeting with your shirt, how your thighs shift slightly where you stand. “You feel it everywhere. The pressure, the tension. And then when you finally get what you need-” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “It’s like relief. Like every nerve in your body is completely relaxed all at once.”

You stare at him, heart hammering, your fingers tightening on your shirt as you shift again, a deep, unfamiliar heat curling in your stomach.

Matt notices. Of course he notices.

He tilts his head slightly. “You ever been kissed before, angel?”

Your breath hitches. “What?”

His lips twitch slightly, but his expression remains unreadable. “You heard me.”

Your cheeks burn. “I- I mean, yeah.”

His gaze sharpens. “Yeah?”

You swallow hard. “Once.”

Matt hums, like he’s not entirely convinced. “And did you feel anything?”

Your stomach twists. “I… I don’t know.”

His jaw clenches slightly. “If you don’t know,” he murmurs, voice quieter now, rougher, “then the answer is no.”

You press your thighs together again, your whole body suddenly feeling strange, tingly, like your skin is too tight. “Oh.”

Matt’s gaze doesn’t waver, dark and knowing, like he’s seeing right through you.

“You’re feeling it now, aren’t you?”

Your breath catches. “W-what?”

He exhales through his nose, his voice dropping lower, slower. “The first part.” He tilts his head slightly, eyes dragging over you. “Warm and needy.”

Your pulse pounds in your ears. “I- I don’t- ” You shake your head quickly, even as your skin burns, your thighs press together again, your grip on your shirt tightening.

Matt takes a slow step toward you, his presence impossibly big in the small bathroom. “You are feeling it,” he murmurs, eyes locked onto yours. “Aren’t you, angel?”

Your mouth opens, then closes, your face scorching hot. “How can you tell?” you whisper.

He smirks, slow and lazy, but his voice is still rough, still tight. “You’re not exactly subtle about it.”

Your breath stutters as realization hits you.

Your thighs- pressed together.

Your fingers- clutching at your shirt, pulling it tighter, twisting the fabric.

Your breathing- short, shallow.

You feel like your body isn’t your own, like every nerve is suddenly hyperaware of the space between you and Matt, the way he’s looking at you, the way you can feel the heat radiating off of him even though he’s still an arm’s length away.

He takes another step closer.

Your stomach flips, your heartbeat a frantic staccato against your ribs.

His voice is lower now, softer, but it makes your entire body tingle. “Where are you feeling it?”

Your throat dries. “What?”

His gaze flickers down, then back up. “Where do you feel it the most, angel?”

You swear the air in the room disappears. Your skin prickles with heat, embarrassment flooding you so fast that you physically shrink back.

“I- I…” Your voice barely works, breathy and unsure.

Matt hums, his eyes flickering over you again, watching the way your fingers still grip your shirt, how your weight shifts between your legs.

You do feel it. Everywhere.

Your cheeks burn hotter, your head spinning. You don’t even know what you’re supposed to say.

Matt watches you, his expression unreadable, his body still tense. His eyes flicker over your flushed skin, the way you’re gripping the hem of your oversized t-shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. He exhales slowly, shaking his head slightly before tilting it, his voice dropping back to something softer, more careful.

“Tell me about that kiss you had.”

You blink up at him, still flustered, your brain barely catching up. “What?”

“The one you said you had. The only one.”

You shift uncomfortably. “I- uh. What about it?”

Matt’s gaze sharpens. “How did he touch you?”

Your stomach flips. “Touch me?”

He nods once. “Yeah. His hands. Where were they?”

You frown slightly, thinking back, but there’s nothing to think about. “He… didn’t.”

Matt’s brows lift slightly. “Didn’t?”

You shake your head, feeling a little embarrassed now. “I mean… he just kissed me. That’s it.”

Matt’s jaw ticks, his fingers flexing against the edge of the counter. “How long?”

You swallow. “Like… a second? Maybe two?”

Matt exhales sharply, shaking his head. “And what did it feel like?”

You bite your lip, thinking. “Nothing.”

Matt’s lips press into a thin line. “Nothing?”

You shrug. “I mean… it was just… a kiss.”

Matt takes another slow step toward you, his voice quieter now, rougher. “That’s not what it’s supposed to feel like, angel.”

Your breath catches, your fingers twitching against the hem of your shirt. You look up at him now, the air between you impossibly thick.

“…Then what is it supposed to feel like?”

Matt scans your body, his gaze dragging from the top of your head down the length of your frame- your messy hair, your parted lips, your bare thighs still pressed together slightly. He glances toward the open bathroom door, his jaw tightening before he reaches out, gripping the handle and slowly pushing it shut.

The click of the latch echoes in the silence.

When he turns back to you, his expression is darker now, his voice impossibly low.

“That warm and needy feeling?” His eyes lock onto yours, steady and intense. “It should feel like it’s on fire.”

Your stomach flips violently. “What do you mean?”

Matt steps closer, towering over you, his scent wrapping around you like something heavy and intoxicating. He leans down, just enough for his breath to brush against your lips.

“Like this.”

And then he kisses you.

It’s slow and intentional. His lips press against yours softly at first, like he’s giving you a chance to process, to pull away if you want to. But you don’t.

You can’t.

The second your breath hitches, he deepens it, his hand lifting just slightly like he wants to touch you but stops himself. His lips move against yours, slow and deliberate, and warmth spreads through your entire body. It’s thick and pulsing and burning.

Your fingers tremble as they clutch your t-shirt, your body melting before you even realize it. This is different. This is new.

This is what he meant.

When he finally pulls away, you’re breathless, dazed, your lips tingling from the weight of his touch. Your wide eyes meet his, your heart slamming against your ribs.

“…Oh.”

Matt’s jaw is tight, his breathing slow, controlled. His hand twitches at his side like he’s restraining himself, his eyes searching yours.

“Now tell me, angel,” his voice is rough, nearly a whisper.

“Did that feel like nothing?”

You swallow hard, shaking your head slowly. “…No.”

Matt’s lips twitch, his gaze darkening slightly. “Where did you feel it?”

You shift on your feet, feeling impossibly small under his stare. “I- I don’t know.”

Matt hums, stepping closer. “No?” His hands lift, slow, careful, fingertips ghosting over your cheeks as he cups your face gently. His thumbs brush against your skin, warm and grounding. “Did you feel it here?”

You inhale sharply, lips parting slightly, but shake your head. “Not… really.”

His hands move down, skimming over your shoulders, gripping them lightly. “Here?”

You shake your head again, heart pounding.

His hands trail lower, skimming down your arms, barely touching you. You shiver, exhaling shakily, but still, you shake your head.

Matt watches you, his movements slow, deliberate, as his palms skim over your waist, his thumbs pressing lightly into the soft curve of your stomach.

Your breath stutters.

His hands move lower.

Your fingers twitch against the hem of your oversized t-shirt as he settles them just above your hips, his touch firm, grounding. “What about here?”

You swallow, feeling lightheaded, but shake your head again.

And then his hands drift lower, fingertips grazing the soft skin of your lower stomach, right above where that deep, pulsing warmth sits heavy between your thighs.

Your body stiffens. Your breath catches.

Matt’s lips part slightly, his eyes locked onto yours, watching, waiting.

You nod, the smallest movement, barely even noticeable.

But he notices.

“Yeah?” His voice is softer now, rougher. “What’s it feel like, angel?”

Your thighs squeeze together instinctively, your skin burning under his touch. “I don’t know,” you stammer, breathless.

Matt hums, his thumbs tracing slow, lazy circles against your skin. “You sure?”

You nod quickly, but your body betrays you, shifting slightly into his touch.

Matt’s lips twitch again, something knowing behind his dark gaze as his hands slide down, fingertips trailing over the tops of your thighs before dragging back up, slow, teasing.

You shudder.

“Does it feel like a pulse?” he murmurs. “Like a throb?” His fingers trace the sensitive skin just above your knee, then glide up, his palms warm as they press lightly into the soft flesh of your thighs. “Almost a little wet?”

Your entire body jerks slightly, heat flooding your face, your stomach twisting violently in the most delicious way.

“Matt,” you whisper, mortified, shaking your head quickly.

His hands squeeze your thighs gently. “Hmm?”

You shake your head harder, but your body is betraying you again, shifting into his touch, your knees wobbling slightly as warmth pools deep in your core.

Matt watches you, eyes dark and knowing. Then, after a beat, he pulls his hands away, stepping back slightly.

Your body feels cold without his touch.

His gaze lingers on you, studying every little movement, every breath, every tremble. Then he asks, “Do you like that feeling?”

You hesitate, lips parting, but finally, finally, you nod.

Matt exhales slowly, his jaw tight, his hands flexing at his sides before his lips twitch into something almost smug. “It can feel even better.”

Your breath catches. “It… gets better?”

Matt chuckles, low and deep, shaking his head slightly. “So innocent,” he murmurs.

You frown slightly, embarrassed, shifting on your feet again.

But then his hand lifts again, fingertips brushing against your cheek before sliding into your hair, tilting your chin up slightly.

His gaze flickers over you, slow, measured.

And then he whispers, “Wanna see?”

Your breath stutters. Your pulse pounds. Your stomach twists in the most confusing, exhilarating way.

And then before you can even think- you nod.

Matt doesn’t hesitate.

His lips crash against yours, hotter this time, hungrier. His hands cup your face, tilting you exactly where he wants you as his mouth moves against yours, coaxing you into something deeper, something that makes that pulsing heat between your thighs turn into something more. It turns into something desperate, something dangerous.

Your fingers lift, gripping onto his shirt, needing something to hold onto as your legs feel weak beneath you.

He deepens the kiss, pulling you even closer, his hands firm as they slide from your face down to your waist, gripping you like he doesn’t want to let go. His lips are hot, insistent, moving against yours in a way that makes your head spin, your entire body buzzing with arousal.

His hands tighten around your waist, and before you can even register what’s happening, he lifts you effortlessly, gripping the backs of your thighs and setting you onto the cool bathroom counter. The contrast between the cold surface and his warm touch makes you shiver, your legs instinctively parting just enough for him to step between them.

And then- asound escapes your throat.

It’s soft, barely there. Nothing but a breathy little whimper as he tugs you closer, his hands gripping your thighs.

But it’s enough.

Your entire body locks up as realization sinks in, heat rushing to your face as you abruptly pull away, eyes wide with embarrassment. “I- I didn’t mean to-”

Matt’s breathing is heavy, his lips swollen from kissing you, but his eyes- his eyes are dark, focused, hungry.

He tilts his head, his hands still holding you firmly in place. “It’s normal, angel,” he murmurs, his voice impossibly low, deep enough to send shivers down your spine.

You swallow hard, still mortified. “But-”

He shakes his head, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles against your thigh. “It just means you like it,” he explains, his voice warm, coaxing. “Means it feels good.”

You shift, heat curling in your stomach again. “Still-”

“And it makes me feel good too.”

Your breath catches.

Matt’s eyes flicker over your face, his expression unreadable for a moment before he adds, “Makes me feel warm and needy, just like you.”

Your stomach flips, your fingers tightening against the edge of the counter.

Your voice is quieter now, unsure. “Then… why don’t you make any sounds?”

Matt stills, his lips twitching slightly, but it’s not amusement- it’s something else. His fingers flex against your thighs before dragging slowly up, fingertips pressing lightly into the fabric of your oversized t-shirt, tracing just under the hem.

He leans in, so close that his lips ghost against yours when he speaks.

“You want me to?”

Your pulse stutters.

You should probably say no.

But you don’t.

Instead, you nod.

Matt exhales through his nose, his smirk finally breaking through. “Yeah?”

You nod again, slower this time.

His hands slide up, gripping your waist, and then he kisses you again.

But this time, it’s different.

It’s slower and deeper. His tongue tracing against yours in a way that makes your head spin, your body arching slightly toward him before you even realize you’re doing it. His hands slide over your thighs, gripping them, pulling you forward until your legs wrap loosely around his waist.

A low sound rumbles from the back of his throat.

It’s quiet, but it’s there, vibrating against your lips, making your stomach flip and your entire body heat.

You gasp softly, your fingers gripping his shirt as the sound sends something dangerous pulsing between your thighs.

Matt must notice, because he groans again, this time a little louder, his hands tightening on your hips, his fingers pressing into your skin like he’s holding himself back.

The tension is unbearable now, your skin hot, your breaths short, every little movement making your head spin.

His hands gripped you tight, pulling you flush against him. His fingers trace slow, teasing patterns against your thighs, sending shivers up your spine. Your entire body is warm, buzzing, that unfamiliar but intoxicating feeling creeping higher and higher until a soft, breathy moan slips past your lips.

Matt freezes for a fraction of a second, his entire body tensing like a live wire, his hands gripping you tighter. And then he groans, deep and low, like the sound did something to him, like he needed to hear it.

His hands move before he can stop himself, sliding up your sides, fingertips teasing beneath the hem of your oversized t-shirt, skimming your bare skin as he pushes the fabric up, his palms warm and making you skin tingle in ways you’ve never imagined were possible.

A sudden, sharp knock on the door.

You barely stifle a yelp, but Matt is quicker.

His palm immediately covers your mouth, his other hand gripping your hip as he tenses, his head snapping toward the door. His light eyes flicker back to yours, and he puts a single finger to his lips, signaling for you to stay quiet.

Your heart is pounding.

“Yo, Matt,” your brother’s voice comes from the other side of the door. “You seen my sister? She left her laundry downstairs, and it’s hogging the dryer.”

Matt exhales slowly, his hand still over your mouth as he tilts his head toward the door, his voice calm, casual, like he hasn’t just had his hands all over you.

“Nah, dude. No idea where she is.”

The doorknob rattles.

You flinch.

Matt’s grip tightens on you instinctively, his hand pressing a little firmer against your mouth, his other hand flexing against your waist.

Your brother sighs. “Bro, unlock the door. I gotta brush my teeth.”

Matt’s jaw clenches, his eyes locking onto yours, something sharp flashing behind them before he whispers, so low you can barely hear it-

“Fuck.”

For a split second, you don’t know what he’s going to do.

Then, without hesitation, he lifts you again, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct, and moves.

You barely have time to process before he’s setting you down into the bathtub, your back pressing against the cool surface. He leans in close, eyes serious, his hand brushing over your cheek for just a second.

“Stay quiet,” he whispers.

You nod quickly, heart hammering.

Matt exhales sharply, stepping back, adjusting himself. You blink, watching as he tugs his waistband up, shifting awkwardly, like he’s hiding something.

Your brows furrow slightly. “What are you-”

Matt immediately puts a finger to his lips again, shaking his head. “Shh.”

You shut your mouth, still confused, still burning from everything that just happened.

Before you can think too hard about it, Matt pulls the shower curtain closed, hiding you from view just as he unlocks the door and swings it open.

Your brother steps in, rubbing his face tiredly. “Dude, what took you so long?”

Matt shrugs, leaning casually against the sink, like he hasn’t just shoved you into the bathtub to keep you hidden. “Was taking a piss.”

Your brother makes a face. “Long ass piss bro.”

Matt just smirks, crossing his arms, his body perfectly positioned to block any possible view of the tub. “Long ass piss for a long ass dick, what can I say.”

Your brother rolls his eyes, grabbing his toothbrush. “Whatever.”

You hold your breath, praying he doesn’t notice anything, praying he doesn’t hear the way your breathing is still uneven, the way your body is still buzzing from Matt’s touch.

Matt’s hand twitches against the sink, his knuckles flexing. His jaw is tight, his body still tense. Like he’s just barely keeping himself under control.

After a few minutes of tense silence, the sound of running water and your brother brushing his teeth fills the room. You stay completely still in the tub, pressing your lips together to keep yourself from making a sound, even though your heart is still racing from what had just happened.

Finally, your brother spits into the sink, wipes his mouth, and mutters, “Alright, I’m going to my room.”

Matt doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, I’m just gonna wash my face, I’ll meet you there.”

Your brother hums in response, the bathroom door creaking as he steps out. The moment you hear his footsteps retreating down the hall, Matt quickly shuts the door, locking it again before exhaling heavily. His shoulders relax slightly as he pulls back the shower curtain, his gaze landing on you, still curled up in the bathtub.

“Alright he’s gone.” he murmurs, stepping forward and reaching for you.

You let out a breath, still a little dazed as his hands slide under your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly. He sets you back down, steadying you on your feet before his hands settle on your waist.

You look up at him, eyes wide. “Oh my God.”

Matt chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “Relax, angel. He had no clue.”

You exhale shakily, running your hands through your hair. The room is still heavy with everything that had happened, and while part of you is still flustered and embarrassed, the other part- the part that’s still warm, still needy- doesn’t want the moment to be over.

Matt watches you carefully, and for a second, you think he’s going to lean in again, that he’s going to pick up where you left off. But then, he sighs, smoothing his hands over your sides.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “We can’t go further right now. Your brother’s waiting for me, and he’s still looking for you.”

You sigh, deflating a little. You know he’s right, but still, the heat swirling in your stomach doesn’t quite go away. “Okay,” you mumble, chewing on your lip.

There’s a brief pause before something else pops into your head, something you don’t quite understand. “Matt?”

He tilts his head slightly. “Yeah?”

You hesitate, shifting on your feet. “What were you… doing? With your… you know…?”

Matt blinks, then raises an eyebrow. “My cock?” he asks bluntly.

Your entire face burns. “Matt!”

He smirks at your reaction, but instead of answering immediately, he reaches down, adjusting the waistband of his sweatpants. You watch confused until he untucks himself, and suddenly, the thick outline of him is tenting out his grey sweatpants prominently.

Your breath catches in your throat.

You stare.

It’s… big.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, a deep, unfamiliar curiosity curling in your stomach. Without even thinking, your hand twitches forward slightly before you stop yourself at the last second, pulling your hand back quickly.

“Sorry,” you blurt out, embarrassed.

But Matt shakes his head immediately, stepping closer. “No, sweetheart. Don’t be sorry,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, coaxing. “Please do.”

Your lips part slightly, your heart hammering in your chest.

“It’ll make me feel good,” he adds, his eyes locked onto yours.

You swallow hard, hesitating just a moment longer before you slowly reach forward again, your fingers lightly wrapping around him through the fabric.

Matt exhales sharply, his head tilting back slightly. “Fuuuck,” he mutters under his breath.

Your fingers tighten slightly, gripping him a little more firmly.

His hands flex at his sides before one of them lifts to grip the counter. “This,” he breathes out, his eyes fluttering shut for a second, “this is another way of knowing that I like it.”

You stare at him, your breath short and quick. “I did this to you?” you whisper.

Matt groans quietly, nodding. “Yeah, angel.”

You blink, still gripping him through his sweatpants, still feeling the heat of him against your palm. You squeeze slightly, watching as his jaw tenses, his breath stuttering.

Your voice is quieter now. “Is it like… how i feel…wet?”

Matt exhales, his fingers twitching against the counter. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Just like that. When you get wet, my dick gets hard.”

Your cheeks burn. “Why does it do that?”

Matt leans in then, his breath warm against your ear, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s your body getting ready for me to be inside you.”

Your entire body locks up, heat flooding your core so intensely that your thighs press together on instinct. Your fingers twitch around him, squeezing his clothed length a little harder.

Matt groans, his head dropping to your shoulder, his breath ragged.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he rasps, his voice strained, “I’m gonna cum if you do that. You’re making me crazy.”

You freeze. “Wait- what?”

Matt lifts his head, exhaling heavily before he leans down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll explain to you another time,” he murmurs. “But for now? Get to bed.”

You nod slowly, still reeling, still confused, still burning. “When will you show me?”

Matt smirks as he watches you hesitate, his voice softer now as he nudges you toward the door.

“Whenever you earn it.”

PT.2 HERE💙

for @mattsobvimyfav

tags: @ilovejohnnieguilbertsblog @mattsturnii @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @watercolorskyy @strangecatpeach @katie1002 @1ovesiick @slut4christopherr @mattgirl4eva @mayalovesturn @chriss-slutt (if u wanna be on the taglist, just comment)

[fangdokja]

The sweetest kisses are often the most dangerous.

❤︎ Synopsis. Your best friend has always been your safe haven—until his touch lingers too long, his words drip with unspoken threats, and you realize too late that safety was never part of his plan.

♡ Book. World Ablaze (WA): For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Light Yagami x Reader

♡ Novella. In the Name of Love - Part 2

♡ Word Count. 7,794

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, general non-con, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, abandonment issues, angst + tragedy, gaslighting

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr content guidelines involving minors, some plot details of the original story were changed to fit the platform. If you want the true original story, please look at the author's official website or Ao3.

♡ A/N. This is a request, but I have not yet fulfilled the full request (hence the lack of proof of request). This turned out better than I thought it would. No explicit stuff yet, but the subtly of it? Yeahh.

Once you finally became of age, it brought with it a new set of challenges—and some old, familiar dynamics. Light Yagami, your self-proclaimed best friend and eternal tormentor, had somehow grown into the golden child of your school. Teachers adored him, parents praised him, and students—especially the girls—flocked to him like moths to a flame.

You, on the other hand, remained firmly in your lane. A slacker by nature and a ‘loser’ by reputation, you floated through school just barely scraping by. Your grades hovered just above the failing mark, your desk was perpetually cluttered, and your teachers sighed in resignation every time you turned in a half-finished worksheet.

“How are you two even friends?” became a question whispered in every corner of the school.

———

Light, of course, handled his popularity with the effortless charm he’d always had. Girls left love notes in his locker, baked him cookies, and blushed when he smiled their way. He’d already received more confessions than most people would in a lifetime.

“Another one?” you’d ask flatly whenever he showed you a new letter, scrawled in pink ink and dotted with hearts.

“They’re very persistent,” he’d say with a smirk, tucking the letter away. “You jealous?”

“Not even remotely,” you replied, your attention already back on the handheld game console in your lap. “Have fun with your fan club, Your Highness.”

———

For a while, Light balanced his new relationships with his time spent with you. He’d date the occasional girl, give her his full attention for a while, then inevitably move on when the novelty wore off.

“Why do you even bother?” you asked once, sprawled on the grass during one of your cloud-watching sessions.

“Because it’s good practice,” he replied matter-of-factly, hands tucked behind his head as he stared at the sky.

“Practice?”

“For social dynamics,” he explained. “Understanding how people think, what they want, and how to navigate their expectations. It’s useful.”

“You sound like a robot,” you said, unimpressed.

Light smirked. “You’re just mad I’m right.”

———

When the girls dragged him away, as they often did, you were left to your own devices. You didn’t mind—at least, that’s what you told yourself. It wasn’t like you’d ever been the center of attention, anyway. Loneliness wasn’t new to you; it was just an old companion that came and went as it pleased.

You filled the time with your usual distractions: gaming, reading, cloud watching, and sketching mindless doodles in the margins of your notebooks. Sometimes, you’d overhear whispers about Light and his admirers, but you tuned them out.

“Why don’t you go after him?” someone asked you once, their tone half-curious, half-mocking.

You didn’t even look up. “Because I’m not an idiot.”

———

Despite the distance his popularity sometimes created, Light always found his way back to you. When the crowds cleared and the noise died down, it was the two of you again—two opposites bound by years of shared history.

One evening, as you both sat in your room playing video games, he glanced over at you and said, “You’re not mad about the other girls, right?”

“Why would I be mad?” you replied, not taking your eyes off the screen. “You’re Light Yagami, the golden child. Go do your thing. I’m good.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. Then, with a small smirk, he said, “You’re impossible, you know that?”

You grinned. “Takes one to know one.”

No matter how far his orbit expanded, Light always seemed to come back to you. And though you’d never say it out loud, you were glad he did.

────────────

From Light Yagami’s perspective, life was predictable—and predictably successful. He was the golden child, the perfect student, the center of admiration. People hung on his every word, sought his approval, and envied his effortless excellence. For the most part, it was satisfying. Life unfolded as it should, meticulously planned and executed.

But then there was you.

His so-called best friend, the antithesis of everything he represented. Lazy, unmotivated, and perpetually on the fringes of mediocrity. Despite your differences, you were always there—silent, sarcastic, yet strangely dependable in a way he couldn’t quite define. It wasn’t something he thought about too often. You were just…you.

Until the day he noticed you staring.

———

It was during lunch, an ordinary afternoon where Light was half-listening to the chatter of his friends while methodically organizing his notes for the next class. His focus should’ve been on the conversation, but his gaze flickered to you, seated a few tables away as usual.

You were always in the corner, avoiding attention, engrossed in some book or game. But today, your attention wasn’t on the usual distractions. It was on him.

Not Light. Not one of his admirers. No, your focus was fixed on a scrawny, nervous wreck of a kid seated a few tables over.

The boy was all sharp angles and awkward movements, perpetually hunched over as though trying to shrink into himself. Light recognized him vaguely—a shy, nerdy kid who tripped over his own words whenever called upon. Nothing remarkable.

Yet, you watched him.

Not with mockery or disdain, but with something quieter, more intent. You weren’t laughing, whispering, or rolling your eyes like most people would. You just…observed.

It unsettled Light in a way he couldn’t immediately place.

———

Later, as he packed his bag and prepared for the next class, Light’s thoughts returned to that scene. He prided himself on his ability to read people, to predict their behavior and motivations. And yet, he had no explanation for your interest in that boy.

He brushed it off initially. What did it matter? You were free to stare at whoever you wanted.

But the image lingered, uninvited, in his mind: the distant look in your eyes, the way your usually indifferent demeanor softened just slightly.

He frowned, closing his notebook with a bit more force than necessary.

———

The following week, he started paying more attention. It was subtle—Light was nothing if not discreet—but he kept you in his peripheral vision whenever he could.

And there it was again.

That same quiet, almost contemplative look as you glanced at the boy in question.

Light found himself growing irritated, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. It wasn’t like he cared who you watched. You had your own life, and he had his.

So why did it bother him?

———

He thought back to the countless times he’d teased you about being jealous of his popularity, the playful smirk on his face as he’d waved off another confession or accepted a gift from yet another admirer. You never cared. Not once.

It had been mildly disappointing, in retrospect. He’d thought it might get a rise out of you, but you never so much as flinched.

Yet here you were, paying attention to some no-name boy like he was the most fascinating thing in the world.

Light’s fingers tightened around the strap of his bag. It didn’t make sense.

Not yet, at least. But Light Yagami didn’t like questions without answers.

He decided then and there that he’d find out what had caught your attention—and why it left him feeling so uncharacteristically unsettled.

────────────

Light never let himself get too attached to anything, at least not to the point where it would affect his plans. He had control over his emotions—he had to. And yet, as he watched you sit with Ethan, that crack in his composed facade began to form, slowly but surely.

It was subtle at first. The boy, Ethan, always seemed to be at the edges of Light's awareness, always there when Light was distracted by his admirers or lost in his own thoughts. But this was different.

You didn’t just sit with him. You spent time with him. You helped him with his homework. You joked around with him in the way you never did with anyone else. You went out of your way to keep him company at lunch, when no one else would. You, who had always kept your distance, kept your circle small—yet now you were investing time in him of all people.

And Light hated it.

There was no reason for it. It didn’t make sense. Ethan wasn’t even someone worth considering. He was shy, weak, and socially awkward. Everything about him screamed mediocrity, the kind of person who would never stand out, never make anything of themselves. So why? Why were you helping him? Why were you treating him like he mattered?

Light had always been the one to push you, to help you improve, to get you to rise above your own mediocrity. He'd worked tirelessly to shape you, to make you better. And now, here you were, giving that same attention—your valuable attention—to someone who didn’t even deserve it.

But then, as he continued to observe you two from the sidelines, the truth started to unfold, albeit in a way that made him recoil. He couldn’t stop it from clicking into place. You didn’t see Ethan for what he was now. You saw him for what you used to be.

He reminded you of yourself.

The realization hit Light like a wave. You hadn’t always been the person you were today—motivated, sharp, and at least somewhat capable. No, you’d been the same kind of outcast Ethan was now. Alone. Invisible.

And you saw a part of yourself in him, that small, quiet echo of who you used to be.

You wanted to help him. You had to help him.

Light would have expected a feeling of satisfaction, even a touch of flattery. After all, you cherished your experiences with Light enough to want to help someone like Ethan, someone who reminded you of the person Light had pulled you from. But it didn’t feel like that. It didn’t feel warm or appreciative. It felt... cold. It felt harsh and bitter, like the sting of jealousy he’d never fully acknowledged before.

Why? Why was it this way? Why didn’t he feel proud that you were helping someone who could never repay you?

He hated it. He hated how it made him feel, how his thoughts twisted and spiraled into something darker.

———

Light tried to keep himself composed, but it was becoming more difficult. As the days passed, and he saw more of you with Ethan, that unease continued to eat at him. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but it was growing harder to ignore.

If he confronted you about it, it would mean acknowledging something he wasn’t ready to face. Something he couldn’t process. He wanted to think it was just about Ethan. But deep down, Light knew it wasn’t. He knew it wasn’t about the boy at all. It was about you—and the way you were slipping further away from him.

He was jealous.

It was ridiculous. He of all people, jealous of someone like Ethan?

But he couldn’t ignore it. It hurt.

So, he buried it. He buried it like everything else��like the ambition he’d always kept under wraps, like grand plans where he couldn’t afford to falter. He buried it deep down, pretending it didn’t bother him, pretending that you could still be his, that your attention was his, even as you drifted to someone else.

There were moments when he almost confronted you, asked you why you were so hell-bent on helping someone so insignificant, but he held back. Instead, he bit his tongue, letting the resentment simmer inside, like a serpent coiling around his thoughts.

It was a feeling he couldn’t quite place, but one he couldn’t escape. And for once in his life, he hated not having control over it.

────────────

It had been a month, a whole month, of Light trying his best to suppress the gnawing frustration and resentment. On the surface, life carried on as usual—he kept up his studies, dated other people, spent time with you, pretended everything was fine. It was routine. Everything was routine. But underneath, something had shifted. Something that made everything feel hollow.

He’d watched Ethan grow in confidence, all because of you. He couldn’t deny it. Ethan had improved significantly—he spoke up more, stood taller, even started getting more attention from others. And Light hated it. Hated how he had been replaced, how your attention, once reserved for him, was now shared with Ethan.

You didn’t even notice, though. You were too absorbed in your "little project," as you called it. You genuinely wanted to help Ethan, and it was clear to everyone, Light included, that you had. You were kind to him in a way you had never been with anyone else, and though it made Light’s stomach churn, he couldn’t argue with the results. Ethan had gone from an anxious, nervous wreck to someone who could hold a conversation, someone who felt like he had a place in the world.

But all of that—the improvement, the attention, the support—it was nothing compared to the point of no return.

The moment it all cracked open for Light was when he saw Ethan, of all people, trying to kiss you. Trying to confess to you. In that moment, every bit of control Light had over his emotions snapped. All of the jealousy, all of the uncertainty, the fear that he might lose you to someone else, came crashing down in a split second.

Ethan had moved closer to you, his hand reaching out toward your face. You were looking at him in that quiet, gentle way you always did when you were being supportive, completely unaware of how things had changed. Light’s heart raced, his chest tight, suffocating with a mix of jealousy and... something deeper. Something he couldn’t ignore anymore.

Without thinking, he moved. He didn’t care how it looked, didn’t care that it would make him seem possessive or irrational. He couldn’t let this go any further. Not now, not when he hadn’t even had the chance to process it himself.

“Hey,” Light’s voice was sharp, cutting through the tension between you and Ethan. His hand shot out to grab Ethan’s wrist before it could get any closer. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

Ethan recoiled slightly, a mix of confusion and disappointment flashing across his face. You looked between the two of them, still unaware of what had just happened.

“Light?” you said, voice confused. “What’s going on?”

Light forced a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He tried to maintain his usual cool demeanor, tried to act like nothing was wrong, but his mind was racing. His heart was pounding in his chest. “Nothing,” he said smoothly, his voice casual. “I just thought it was a little too soon. You don’t have to rush things with him, do you?”

He kept his gaze on Ethan, the mask of indifference slipping in place. It was all too easy to be the confident, charismatic Light Yagami in front of others, but inside, something was boiling. He wasn’t ready to admit it—not to you, not to himself—but it was there. A slow-burning ache. The realization that he might actually care more than he’d allowed himself to believe.

And he hated it. Hated how unstable it made him.

You seemed to brush it off, distracted by the sudden interruption, and shifted your focus back to the situation at hand, oblivious to the internal war happening inside him. Light gave Ethan one final look, sharp and piercing, before letting go of his wrist, silently warning him to back off.

“Let’s get back to work,” Light said, his voice cool and collected, as if nothing had happened. His smile was back, a perfect mask to hide what was really going on. “There’s no need for any of that, alright?”

Ethan nodded, visibly uncomfortable, and after a moment, he stepped away. Light watched him leave, his gaze lingering a little too long, as if to make sure Ethan didn’t try anything else.

When the two of you were alone again, Light tried to act normal. He even teased you lightly about it, making some comment about how you were apparently too irresistible for Ethan. But beneath it all, the feeling stayed with him, thick and suffocating. The truth was there, buried deep inside.

He wasn’t ready to face it. He wasn’t ready to admit it to you. But Light was starting to realize just how much you meant to him. And for the first time, he wasn’t sure how to deal with it.

So, he buried it again. He kept the mask in place. He pretended it was just a moment of concern, just a protective instinct over his best friend. He’d dealt with worse. He’d always dealt with worse.

But as the days went by, the pressure continued to mount. And no matter how hard he tried to push it down, that little crack inside him was only getting wider.

────────────

Light was a master of subtlety, an architect of unseen movements in the intricate game of social dynamics. He didn’t need to manipulate overtly—he understood that power wasn’t in direct control, but in the delicate nudging of events, in guiding people without them ever realizing they were being guided. And so, when it came to you and Ethan, he did what he did best: he bent the circumstances in his favor without ever leaving a trace.

It started with a casual observation. Light knew that Ethan’s new-found confidence, while refreshing, was also a weakness. The more he was validated by his peers and admired by the girls in school, the more distracted he became. He was no longer the shy, introverted kid, but a rising star in a social hierarchy that was just as demanding as it was fickle. And that, in Light’s mind, was his opportunity.

It wasn’t enough to push Ethan directly. That would have been too obvious, too aggressive, and would only serve to make Ethan wary, perhaps even resentful. Instead, Light did what he always did: he stayed in the background, gently adjusting things without ever touching them directly.

———

One afternoon, Light invited Ethan to study at his house, a seemingly innocuous gathering. It wasn’t that Light wanted to help him with his homework—he was smarter than that. No, he invited Ethan because he knew exactly who else would be there.

“You should join us,” Light had said, his tone casual but with a hidden undercurrent of suggestion. “I’ve got some friends coming over. A few people from our class, actually. I’m sure you’ll enjoy their company.”

Ethan, eager for approval, agreed without hesitation. And when he arrived, he was greeted by not just a group of classmates but also a few girls from your year—girls who Light had carefully cultivated an interest in Ethan. They were charming and confident, just the kind of people who would make Ethan feel special, like he was part of a social circle he’d only just begun to enter.

Light watched with quiet satisfaction as the evening unfolded. He knew that Ethan, although still somewhat socially awkward, would be swept up in the flattery, in the attention from the girls. He would find himself caught up in their world, a world that was fast and shallow and entirely separate from the quiet, introspective world you inhabited.

But Light wasn’t finished yet.

———

The next day, when Ethan and you were supposed to meet for a study session, Light intervened once more, subtly inserting himself into the equation. He casually mentioned that Ethan was already busy with other plans.

“I’m sure Ethan has his hands full,” Light had said with that same detached, almost apologetic tone. “He’s got a lot going on with his new... friends, after all. It’s good for him.”

You had simply nodded, the familiar pang of abandonment not even worth acknowledging. Light could see the slight drop in your expression, the way your shoulders slumped imperceptibly. But he didn’t act on it immediately. No, he needed you to feel like you had no other choice, that it was just a natural consequence of the circumstances.

And as the days passed, Light continued to keep Ethan distracted. More invitations, more group activities, more of those seemingly innocent social events. He made sure Ethan was always busy, always surrounded by people who pulled him in different directions. He could feel Ethan growing more distant, his once-deep friendship with you fading into the background as he became more absorbed in his new social circle.

———

On the surface, nothing changed. You two continued to hang out, study, talk. But Light knew. He knew that you were slowly becoming aware of the shift, of Ethan’s increasing distance. And that’s when Light did what he did best—he made sure you still felt like you had him.

One evening, after Ethan had canceled another plan with you, Light casually invited you over to his place, no agenda, no ulterior motive—just two friends spending time together. But Light’s manipulation wasn’t about grand gestures. It was in the small things.

He’d set up a video game session, one of your favorites, and while you played, he would drop little hints, reminders that you were the one he always came back to. He never let the topic of Ethan come up, choosing instead to distract you with conversations about your interests, your hobbies, things you hadn’t realized you’d been missing. Subtly, quietly, Light reminded you of your place in his life. You were the constant, the one who always remained, the one who didn’t leave.

———

When you finally admitted your inner thoughts to Light, he didn’t show much reaction at first. He kept his calm, his cold indifference.

“It’s a bit sad,” you’d said, your tone light, almost detached, as if you didn’t want to admit how much it stung. “But I’m not too sad. I’m used to it.”

Light, the ever-constant figure in your life, simply nodded. “Yeah. I get it.”

But it wasn’t just that. Not for you. You had always been prepared for this moment. Prepared for the day Ethan would outgrow you, for the day he would soar to greater heights. You had always been alone in that way, haven’t you? You knew how to let go.

And that’s when Light’s grip on you tightened, though you didn’t fully realize it. He was the only one who came back to you, the only one who had never truly left. He was the constant in your life, no matter what came and went. He was the one who always returned.

You couldn’t quite explain it, but something about that—the fact that no matter how many people came and went in your life, Light was always there—comforted you. And maybe that’s why, deep down, you never questioned his actions. You never thought to look at the situation from a different perspective, to wonder why Light was so intent on keeping you around, when you were used to being discarded so easily by others.

You saw the change in Ethan, sure. You saw the way his life had shifted, how he had grown. But that didn’t mean you resented him. You never did. You were prepared to let him go if it was what was best for him, just like you had done for everyone else.

But Light? He never let go. Not completely. And you never had to ask why.

────────────

The evening was peaceful, the kind of calm routine you had come to expect when it was just you and Light. The house was quiet save for the faint sounds of clicking buttons as you both battled through another video game session, your focus entirely on the screen. You didn’t need to speak much to him—nothing ever felt awkward when it was just the two of you. It was always comfortable, always predictable, until it wasn’t.

As you took a break to rest your fingers, Light leaned back against the couch, looking at you in a way that made your stomach tighten. His gaze was uncharacteristically serious, and there was something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite read. For a moment, you wondered if he was going to start one of his usual philosophical tangents or give one of his self-imposed lectures on some obscure topic. But when he finally spoke, his voice was steady, and there was no trace of teasing or sarcasm.

“Can I kiss you?” Light asked, his words blunt and direct.

You blinked, not immediately reacting. It was such an out-of-place comment that it took a few seconds for it to register. You raised an eyebrow, your fingers still hovering over the game controller. You were certain he couldn’t be serious—Light was always surrounded by a revolving door of girlfriends and admirers. He was practically a Casanova, after all.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” you asked, still unsure whether he was joking or not. You didn’t want to entertain it, but the sheer randomness of his question caught your attention.

Light didn’t miss a beat. “I broke up with her.”

You shook your head at the nonchalance in his voice, thinking about how many times you had seen him casually switch partners in the past. It was never a surprise. Light was always the one in control, always the one who seemed to be in charge of everyone and everything, and you had learned long ago that his romantic entanglements were always temporary distractions.

“You really are a Casanova, huh?” you muttered under your breath, continuing to focus on the game as your thumb pressed the button to start the next round.

Light smirked, but there was something different in his expression, something that made the usual cockiness feel almost forced. His eyes were still locked onto you, and there was an intensity there that you hadn’t noticed before.

“I’ve been saving my first kiss for you,” he said, the words so calm, so matter-of-fact, that it almost sounded rehearsed.

You paused mid-game, your thumb stilling on the controller. You turned to him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What? Why?”

“It’s simple,” he said, his voice softer now, but still carrying that logical, detached tone. “You’re the one who matters the most. You’ve always been there. Everyone else is just a distraction.”

His words hit you like a strange mix of sincerity and something else you couldn’t quite place. He had always been there for you, the constant in your life, the one person who had stuck by you through everything, despite all the weirdness of life. But as his gaze lingered on you, something felt different. There was a weight in the air, an expectation you hadn’t noticed before.

You didn’t immediately respond, unsure how to take his words. You glanced at him, brow furrowed. “Are you serious? You’re asking me this now?”

Light leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a softer tone, the edges of his usual confidence giving way to something quieter. “I know you don’t get caught up in emotions. You’ve never been the type to care about that kind of thing. But... I’ve been feeling things, and I think you should too.”

There was something almost... resigned in his words, as though he had been carrying a burden for a while. The way he spoke wasn’t forceful, but there was a subtle gravity to it, like he was simply revealing something long kept beneath the surface.

“You know,” he continued, his voice becoming even more subdued, “I’ve always been here for you. But you’ve been spending so much time with Ethan lately. Helping him out, giving him your attention...” He paused, just long enough to let the silence fill the space. “I couldn’t help but wonder why.”

You hadn’t realized how much he had been observing, how much he had noticed. You always thought things were just as they were—Light and you, close as ever. It had never seemed like there was more to it, never something to question. But hearing his words now, there was an unfamiliar sting that gnawed at you.

“You’ve always had me,” Light added, his gaze steady, though there was something new, something deeper in it now. “And I’ve always made sure to be there. I guess I just... I never thought you’d be so busy with other people.”

It wasn’t blame, exactly. It was just the way he said it—like an old truth suddenly reexamined. He never demanded your attention before, never pushed for it. But now, in this moment, it felt as if he was trying to help you see something you might have missed.

“I should’ve said something earlier, but... I guess I was too focused on being there for you.” His words hung in the air, as if he was unburdening himself of something that had long been kept quiet. “Maybe... maybe I didn’t want to admit that I’ve always been waiting for you to notice.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of his quiet confession pressing on you. You had always been so focused on helping Ethan, on seeing his progress, that you hadn’t realized how much Light had been in the background, how much he had been giving without asking for anything in return. His presence had always felt constant, like a backdrop to your life, never demanding, always patient.

He shifted closer, his voice lowering even further. “So... can I kiss you? I’ve been waiting for this.”

———

As Light’s words lingered in the air, you felt a strange pull in your chest, a mix of confusion and guilt that twisted deeper with each passing second. His gaze was steady, unwavering, as if he had already anticipated your hesitation. You had always trusted him, relied on him, and the thought of disappointing him—of not recognizing what he had done for you—felt like an unbearable weight.

But still, you couldn’t shake the uncertainty that gnawed at you. Something didn’t sit right, not entirely. But when Light spoke again, his tone soft yet somehow firm, you couldn’t ignore it.

“You’ve always had me,” he repeated, his voice more intimate now, like a whispered confession. “I’ve always been here for you. And maybe that’s why... it’s so hard for me to see you with someone else, giving all your attention to Ethan, when I’ve given you everything. When I’ve always been here, waiting for you.”

There it was—the subtle shift in his words, the quiet insinuation. The way he made it seem like you owed him something, like you hadn’t truly appreciated everything he had done. And it worked. The guilt bubbled up inside you, slowly at first, but it soon filled every inch of your chest, clouding your thoughts.

His eyes softened, his voice quieter now. “I don’t want to make you feel bad... but I can’t help how I feel. And I’ve always been there for you, through everything.”

The logic, the gentle push—it was all so subtle, so carefully calculated that you barely even realized how much it was affecting you. You didn’t want to hurt him, didn’t want to make him feel neglected or unimportant. And the truth was, you hadn’t thought about him the way you should have, not in this sense.

The thought of him hurting, of him feeling left behind, sent a pang of guilt through you. Wasn’t he always there for you? Wasn’t he your best friend? And hadn’t he given you so much, asking for nothing in return? How could you not see that he needed something from you too?

You swallowed hard, feeling as if you were cornered, though he had never raised his voice. You met his gaze, and the weight of everything—his words, his feelings, the years of friendship—pressed down on you. Maybe, just maybe, you could give him this, just this once.

“Okay,” you muttered, almost too quietly, nodding in agreement, though you weren’t entirely sure why. “Okay, Light.”

His eyes brightened, as if he had been waiting for you to finally understand, to finally see what he had been trying to show you all along. And before you could think any further, before you could change your mind, he closed the distance between you, his lips pressing against yours with a fervor that surprised you.

The kiss was hard, intense—far more passionate than anything you had ever imagined from Light. His lips parted, and before you could react, his tongue slipped into your mouth, coaxing you deeper into the kiss. His hands, once casual and comforting, were now firm, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

You tried to pull back, to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions that were suddenly flooding your senses, but he was relentless, his grip tightening around you as he deepened the kiss, pouring out all his hidden feelings in the act. There was a rawness to it that unsettled you, a sense of desperation that didn’t feel like the Light you knew.

“Don’t pull away,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours as he kissed you harder, more urgently. “I’ve waited too long for this.”

You struggled, your hands pressing against his chest in an attempt to create space between you. But his hold was unyielding, his mouth determined as he kissed you more forcefully, his body pressing you back into the couch. The more you tried to push him away, the more he responded, tightening his grip, kissing you with an intensity that left you breathless.

It was like he was trying to make you feel every ounce of what he had been holding back all this time—the possessiveness, the longing, the unspoken need. You couldn’t escape the feeling that this wasn’t just about a kiss. It was about something deeper, something he wasn’t willing to admit, and for some reason, you were caught in the middle of it all.

Your heart pounded, your breath quickening as you tried to regain control, but it felt impossible. Every time you thought you might push him away, his presence swallowed you whole, and you found yourself trapped in the moment, uncertain of where it was going or what it meant.

And in the chaos of it all, you couldn’t help but wonder: Had you just given in to something you weren’t ready for?

———

The kiss seemed to stretch on forever, the force of it stealing your breath and leaving you spinning. Light’s lips were desperate, hungry—each movement sending a storm of emotions through you, making it hard to think clearly. His hands were unrelenting, pulling you closer as if he needed you to be closer than ever before, and you couldn’t tell if you were suffocating or if it was just the intensity of the moment.

But just as you thought you might lose yourself entirely, Light finally broke the kiss. His lips lingered near yours, a soft breath escaping him as he pulled away slightly. His eyes were wide, almost unsteady, and there was a flush on his cheeks, a vulnerability you hadn’t expected. He looked at you, a mix of guilt and something softer in his gaze, almost as if he had been holding something back for far too long.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Light’s voice was low, softer than you had ever heard it. The usual confidence was gone, replaced by something raw and apologetic. He reached up, his fingers brushing lightly over your cheek as if trying to make sure you were still there. “I just... I’ve wanted this for so long. Wanted you to know how I feel. But I didn’t want to push you, didn’t want to scare you off.”

You could barely breathe, the rush of emotions still flooding your chest. But his words, the way he spoke—so calm, so seemingly vulnerable—made it harder to argue with. He was always in control, always the one who seemed so certain about everything. But now, he seemed... different. More human. More real.

“I know you care about Ethan,” Light continued, his voice growing quieter, almost like he was confessing a long-hidden secret. “But you’ve always been my person. And I can’t just keep pretending that it’s okay to watch you give all your attention to someone else. I can’t do that anymore.” His gaze softened, and he let out a slow, shaky breath. “I’ve always been here for you, through everything, and I’ll always be here for you. But you need to know that I need you too.”

Your chest tightened, a mixture of guilt and confusion flooding you. You had always relied on Light, always seen him as the constant in your life—the one person who never faltered. But now, with him standing so close, his eyes filled with emotion, it felt like he was asking for something that you didn’t know how to give.

“It’s just hard, you know?” he went on, his voice softer, almost as if he were talking to himself. “I never wanted to make you feel pressured, never wanted you to think I needed something from you. But I’ve been waiting for you to see it... to see me. The way I see you.”

His words stung, a sharp reminder that maybe you had been blind to his feelings, had never really considered how deeply Light had been there for you. His presence, his care—it had always been so constant that you never thought of it as anything other than friendship. But now, hearing him speak so openly, it felt like you had missed something, like you had failed to notice the depth of his emotions.

“I’m sorry,” he added, his hand moving to cup your face gently. “I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I just wanted you to know how much you mean to me. How much I’ve been there for you. You’re my everything, you know that?”

You couldn’t help but soften, despite the overwhelming swirl of emotions inside you. He was right about one thing—he had always been there for you, through every up and down. He had given you so much without asking for anything in return. Couldn’t you just give him this? Couldn’t you show him the same loyalty, the same devotion he had shown you?

“I know I’ve been selfish,” Light continued, his voice thick with emotion now. “I didn’t want to admit it, but I’ve always needed you, and I can’t pretend that I don’t anymore.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. His words were so soft, so raw—something about the vulnerability in his tone made it hard to keep your walls up. He was your best friend. He had always been there, a steady force in your life. How could you not want to give him this?

“I’m not asking for anything big,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just want you to see me. To know how much I care. To know that... I’ve always cared.”

Your heart clenched as the weight of his words settled over you, and despite the uncertainty swirling in your mind, you nodded slowly. You could never refuse him. Not Light. Not when he had always been your constant, the one person who had never wavered in his loyalty.

“I... I do care about you, Light,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

He smiled softly, almost sadly, as if he had expected something like that, as if he had known you would give in.

“I just needed you to understand,” he whispered, leaning in again, this time his touch gentler, more tender, as he kissed you once more.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself be swept away by the warmth of his lips, the tenderness of his touch. Even as doubt whispered in the back of your mind, telling you that something wasn’t quite right, you buried it deep. After all, Light was your best friend. The one person who had always been there for you. You couldn’t turn away from him now, not after everything he had done.

And so, despite the confusion, despite the overwhelming swirl of emotions, you let yourself fall into the kiss, letting the weight of his presence consume you. Because in the end, he was the one constant in your life. And to you, that meant everything.

────────────

As Light’s lips moved against yours, his touch became softer, more controlled, though the intensity beneath the surface didn’t waver. When he finally pulled away, he didn’t let go. Instead, he wrapped his arms tightly around you, drawing you into an embrace so firm it felt like he was trying to fuse your body with his. His chin rested against your shoulder, his face buried in the curve of your neck, inhaling deeply, almost reverently.

The scent of you—natural and subtle, like soft florals—flooded his senses, grounding him in a way he hadn’t anticipated. His grip tightened for just a moment, and though you couldn’t see his face, there was an unguarded smile stretching far too wide, twisted in its elation. Ah. Finally. This feels so good. So perfect.

He allowed himself one long, slow breath, savoring every second of having you in his arms. His face remained hidden, safely tucked away where you couldn’t see the mask slip, where you couldn’t catch the flicker of something far darker than the tenderness he pretended to offer. His voice, when it came, was warm and light, the perfect mimicry of someone lovestruck. “I’ve waited so long for this,” he murmured, pressing his lips lightly against your temple. “You have no idea how much you mean to me.”

But inside, his thoughts were far from gentle.

Calm down, Light. Don’t ruin this. Not yet. She’s not ready. He had to physically restrain himself, fingers digging into your back to keep his hands steady. The urge to take, to claim, to make you entirely his surged like wildfire, burning away the edges of his composure. Not yet. You’ll ruin everything if you move too fast.

Your naivety was what made you so precious. You were brilliant in your own way—smarter than him in certain areas, even—but socially? Oh, you were practically a child, stumbling blindly through interactions while he played the perfect friend, the perfect protector. And you trusted him so implicitly. That’s your greatest weakness. You trust me.

His mind was a whirl of strategies and calculations, and all of them led to the same conclusion: you were his, and you always had been. It was simply a matter of time before you realized it too. If he had to break you, mold you, and piece you back together to make you understand, then so be it. He would do it slowly, carefully, ensuring you never saw the cracks in his façade.

You think you’re safe with me. The thought was almost laughable, sending a ripple of satisfaction through him as he tightened his embrace. You don’t realize how deep you’ve already fallen into this. How much I’ve shaped your life to keep you close. But that’s okay. You’ll understand soon enough.

He could feel the heat of your skin against his, hear the soft hitch in your breathing, and it made him drunk with control. He’d never felt calmer, never felt more in command of himself. Every step from here on out was carefully planned, meticulously crafted to lead you exactly where he wanted you. There was no need to rush.

I’ll break you, little by little. But you won’t even notice, will you? You’ll think I’m helping you, protecting you. And when there’s nothing left of the girl who thought she could exist without me, you’ll thank me for it.

You stirred slightly in his hold, and for a moment, he almost let his grip slip—almost let his hunger get the better of him. But he reined himself in, forcing his breathing to slow, forcing the wicked grin on his face to soften into something fond. His lips brushed against your neck, leaving a featherlight kiss that made you shiver, though you didn’t pull away.

“I won’t let you go,” he whispered, his voice so soft and tender that it sent a pang of guilt through you for even considering doubting him. “I’ll always take care of you. I promise.”

And he meant it. Oh, he meant it in every twisted sense of the word. You were his to care for, to cherish, to love. And if caring for you meant destroying every piece of independence you had, if cherishing you meant breaking you down until you couldn’t live without him, then that was exactly what he would do.

Because to him, you weren’t just the person he loved. You were his purpose, his possession, his world. And no one—not Ethan, not anyone—would take you from him.

As he pulled back slightly, his hands lingered on your shoulders, holding you at arm’s length as he gazed at you with eyes so warm, so sincere, you felt your heart twist. “Thank you,” he said softly, his lips curling into a gentle smile. “For trusting me. For letting me in.”

You didn’t have the words to respond, too overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, too consumed by the vulnerability you thought you saw in his expression. You nodded, offering him a small, shaky smile of your own.

And Light, ever the patient predator, smiled back.

Good girl.

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General TAG LIST of “World Ablaze”: @berry-berry-beam , @magica-ren , @hyakki-yosai , @esthelily , @zombeepuppy , @mololoteco , @whyamaris , @iciel , @songbirdgardensworld , @airangelaira , @illyanaillyana , @ninahorikoshifr , @yandere-daze

[thechaoticcherub]

Sheep Keeping Age

Pairing: Jackson!Friends Dad!Joel Miller x innocent reader

Summary: Joel keeps the flock of sheep in Jackson, you and Ellie become friends, partially because you think it's cute that he keeps sheep.

Warnings: 18+, explicit content, innocence kink, virgin!reader, big age gap(around 40 years), old!joel miller, frustrated!joel miller, some (very) light manhandling, edging, fingering, dirty talk, no use of y/n, pet names, farming, ellie briefly, pussy pronouns

Notes: My first Joel fic! I hope you like it! this isn't really proofread and def not beta read so sorry but that's just how i roll. Ten thousand cherub points to anyone who knows what the title references.

Word count: 4.4 K

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The first week after you became friends with Ellie, you hung out with her in the garage of her dad, well, her Joel’s house. She was in the process of fixing it up to be her apartment and you had agreed to help her move some stuff around. You had caught sight of Joel through the window of the garage, he was in the paddock just past his house where Jackson’s sheep were kept. He was carrying a bucket of water to fill their trough and stopping to rub one of the sheep that followed after him behind the ears while they all brayed at him. Joel was really good looking for an older guy, broad through his shoulders and chest with a lined and deeply etched but handsome face. His hair was peppered with grey and there was something about his prominent nose and jaw that made you want to stare. You had seen him at other times in Jackson, from across the mess hall when he came in looking for his brother while a movie played in the evening. You had watched him then, your eyes tracking his movements across the building instead of paying attention to the projector screen. You had seen him at the pub, late in the evening when you’d go in to play cards with friends, he would be sitting at the bar with Tommy, drinking and talking in low voices. You had always been friendly, saying “hi Mr. Miller!” all brightly, smiling and sweet. Every time he would give you an awkward ‘’llo’” and then look away as if you were dangerous to look at for too long. You had always found him attractive, but he continuously hurt your feelings. 

“Why are you staring at Joel?” Elli asked, knocking you from your thoughts as you stared out the window. 

“Oh I just didn’t realize he took care of the sheep,” You said, making up an excuse. Ellie snorted with brief laughter, 

“Honestly, I think the sheep are the old fucker’s best friends. He definitely likes them more than probably anyone else.” She said, glancing out the window. 

“It’s kinda sweet,” You said, “Shows he isn’t just a closed off asshole,” You finished. Ellie shrugged, “Orrr it means he’s really closed off. Come help me move this desk,” She said.  

The second week after you became friends with Ellie, it had really started to feel like springtime around Jackson and you had walked over to see if Ellie was home. When she hadn’t answered your knocks on the door into the garage, you had wandered around the back of the building towards the paddock. You spotted Joel by the barn, so you put your foot up on the wooden fence and swung your leg over before hopping down and walking over. 

“Hey Mr. Miller!” You called as you approached him, he glanced over and then quickly looked away, as if the sight of you had burned him or something. 

“Hey,” His voice was gruff and short, “You lookin’ for Ellie?” He asked. You walked up to him and shrugged, “I was, she’s not here though, is she?” You asked. 

“Nope. On Patrol with Tommy,” He told you. It sounded like a dismissal, like you should leave. There was a sheep laying against the side of the barn, her breathing was a little heavy and Joel crouched down next to her, feeding her out of the palm of his hand. His forehead was pinched in worry. You didn’t want to be dismissed. You had come all the way to the house and you liked animals. Maybe you could learn how to help with the sheep and if that meant getting to spend a little more time around Joel then so be it. 

“Is something wrong with her?” You asked, crouching down next to Joel and reaching out to touch the sheep’s back, giving her a pat. Joel shifted so he wasn’t close to touching you, and glanced over at you, 

“Nothin’ wrong, jus’ pregnant and ready to be done I ‘spose,” Joel said. You immediately cooed, 

“Aww there’s going to be lambs soon?” you asked, excited, you turned your head to look at Joel, your fingers still in the sheeps slightly dirty wool. You watched as he nodded, “Yup, hopefully not too long,” he said, he looked over at you and it was as if he hadn’t been expecting you to be looking at him. He looked a little startled to meet your eyes, you watched as his eyes moved from yours to your cheeks, a little pink from the cool spring air, to your lips, slightly pursed as you watched him. “Look, darlin’,” he stood up suddenly and the movement almost knocked you backwards into the mud. Him calling you ‘darlin’ got your heart fluttering and your cheeks flushing. “I can tell Ellie you stopped by later if you-”

“I can help with the lambs when they come!” You interjected. “I love animals and I bet I could be a big help with the sheep, I’d love to learn about it.” you told him hopefully. Joel’s eyes moved over your eager face, his brow was pinched in that familiar concern. It was like he was thinking of ways to reject you. You didn’t understand, was he really just this anti-social or was it something about you specifically? You had seen him talking to other people just fine, while he wasn’t the friendliest person he made  conversation with them, but ever since the first time you met Joel he hadn’t wanted to talk to you for long. And it wasn’t like he just didn’t pay attention to you, you had seen him looking at you almost as much as you had caught yourself staring at him. You would turn your head while talking to someone in the town square and he would be looking at you, as if you irritated him. You had once briefly thought maybe he was looking at you because he thought you were pretty but the fact that he never said more than a couple words to you dissuaded you of that.

“I dunno, I’m guessin’ there’s better things a girl like you-” 

“Oh come on, Mr. Miller! I want to help out!” You grinned at him and for a split second, his face cleared of concern and he looked ten years younger but then the almost frustrated look was back but he shrugged, “Alright, if that’s what ya want,” He said. 

The fourth week after you became friends with Ellie, the sheep had been born and you had spent every day since at the paddock behind the Miller house. Joel had shown you all around the sheep barn, told you about their schedules, and taught you a lot but mostly you snuggled the newborn lambs while he did the heavy lifting. You had gotten him to stitch a few sentences together to you and even joked with him occasionally, 

“Not sure why I let ya keep comin’ back if i’m going to be the only one haulin’ the shit,” He had said one afternoon while you sat on one of the rails of the wooden fence, cradling a lamb in your arms, one booted foot swinging back and forth and he cleaned out the stalls in the barn. 

“Don’t pretend like you don’t like my company, Mr. Miller!” You called to him, rubbing the lamb under his chin. Joel snorted as he came out of the barn, 

“I’d like it better if you did some chores,” he said, “Instead of snuggling the babies and then leavin’ me out here the second Ellie comes home.” it had sounded harsh but you could see the light in his eyes. He may tease you about helping but he hadn’t ever insisted you pick up a shovel.  You blushed,

“Do you miss me when I leave ya, Mr. Miller?” You asked boldly, eyes shining with mischief as you looked over at him. 

“I told ya to call me, Joel, darlin’” He said, not answering your question. 

One day that week you had shown up in a dress, it had been too warm for jeans, and snuggling lambs wasn’t such hard work that you needed to wear work clothes. When Joel saw you walking up in boots and a floaty cotton dress he had rolled his eyes,

“We’re droppin all pretenses now, aint we?” He asked. 

“I don’t know what you mean, Mr Miller” You answered lightheartedly as you climbed up and over the fence. You knew he had wanted you to call him Joel, but the way Mr. Miller slid off your tongue like honey was too good to pass up.  Joel’s eyes raked over you as you threw a leg over the fence and hopped down, your dress fluttering around your thighs. 

“Mhm,” he said. “You go prancing around town like this a lot?” he asked, you looked over at him, his eyes had darkened slightly and you wondered if it pissed him off that you hadn’t even come dressed like you could do work if he needed you to. 

“No? I mean…I wear dresses sometimes,” You admitted, “You know that,” you added. He had seen you in dresses before, not that you thought he had noticed. He raised his eyebrows and said nothing, going back to his work. You spent the afternoon with the lambs and their mother, taking them farther out into the paddock to let their mother eat the clover there while you bottle fed the two babies. You caught Joel looking over at you three times that day. Once he was stopped just outside the barn and watching as you knelt in the grass in front of one of the lambs, you had felt his eyes on you so you made sure you smiled and looked cute while you fed the lamb with the bottle. You wanted him to look at you, you wanted your wildest fantasies of Joel Miller thinking you were pretty to come true. Finally you allowed yourself to turn and catch him looking, when he saw you look back at him he hurriedly kept working. 

The second time, you were bent over, picking up one of the lambs and when you straightened up, your cheeks flushed as you caught Joel staring at you from just a few yards away. You realized you had probably shown off too much when you bent over, your underwear might have even been peeking out. Mortified it was you who broke away from this gaze, you refused to look back up until you could hear Joel open the door to the equipment shed. 

The last time was when you were leading the lambs and their mother sheep back towards the barn, you were going to go home soon and you were twisting the hem of your dress around your finger over and over again, pulling it shorter and shorter absentmindedly. You were focused on the lambs, hurrying them along when you turned and noticed Joel filling a bucket with water at a spigot, it was unmistakable that his eyes were on your legs. You knew your body shouldn’t warm at the thought of him looking at you like that. He was the father of a good friend of yours. He was at least 40 years older than you. You hadn’t meant to try and show off to him but what if he thought you were just that type of girl now? What he thought shouldn’t matter to you, but it did and so when he looked up and noticed you had caught him looking again, you were the one who looked away in shame even though it should have been him. 

Once you got the lambs and their mother put into their stall in the barn you came out and looked around for Joel. He was standing by the fence, leaning against it and watching the sun slowly begin to sink behind the mountains. You wandered over to him and stood next to him, you could smell him when you stood so close. Something like heady leather, rich coffee beans and the tang of the outdoors and man. You wanted to bury your nose in his shoulder to keep smelling it. 

“Mr. Miller-” You started to say but before you could apologize for wearing a dress, for not doing enough chores, for anything you might have done to upset him, ever, he grabbed your upper arm, turning so you were the one pushed up against one of the fence posts. His hand dropped from your arm to your hip, keeping you snug against the wood. The movement knocked the wind out of you, your mouth fell open and you let out a little, oof. 

“Knock it off with that Mr. Miller shit,” Joel breathed. His body was so close to you, one of his legs wedged between yours, his large hand tight on your hip, pressing through the fabric of your dress and squeezing your flesh. 

“I’m sor-” “Don’t say it.” He growled, “You come to my house lookin’ like-” he cut himself off, his eyes moving down your frame, raking over every bit of you, making you feel even more exposed than you already did. His lips twisted in what seemed like it was distaste, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. “Next time you come over here, you better go back to being a good girl and wear jeans or somethin’ otherwise I’ll be fixin’ to do somethin’ I’ll regret.” His voice was dangerous and it set something boiling in you. You stared up at him, eyes wide, unsure. Joel’s dark eyes felt like flames as they stared down at you, scorching you, tearing at you. You wanted to be a good girl, but even more than that, you wanted him to do that thing he’d regret,

“But, Mr. Miller-” The words slipped out of you, and you couldn’t finish the sentence before his hand found your jaw. His thumb pressed into one cheek, his fingers pressed into the other, making you look up at him.

“Enough of that.” he said. “Don’t let me catch you in a dress like that again.” He said and it sounded like nothing but a challenge. He pushed you back slightly as he took a step away from you and then turned and left you there in the darkening paddock. 

The fifth week you were friends with Ellie, you wore a dress every single day but Joel hid for you. He signed up for Patrol on the day you were supposed to go to help with the sheep. He was never at the pub or the mess hall at the same time as you. You spent time with Ellie in the converted garage, talking about friends, about Ellie’s girlfriend, and you tried your absolute hardest not to ask her about Joel and whether or not he had asked about you. You stayed late at her place, playing cards,  and when you lost your third hand of Egyptian Ratscrew you decided to head home. As you were saying goodbye, you noticed a light flick on in Joel’s place. Your heart skipped at least two beats and as soon as Ellie’s door closed, leaving you in darkness, your feet changed course from the road that lead back to the mainstreet of town and to the nearby house. You walked along the driveway and to the front door where there was less of a chance of Ellie seeing you than the back door. You weren’t even sure what you were going to do when he answered the door, what reason you were possibly going to give for coming to his house late at night, the instant you saw that he was home but your feet led you to the door anyway and before you knew it, you were knocking. 

When Joel answered the door you looked exhausted and wary, his expression turned to something you couldn’t quite recognize the second he saw you standing there, booted toes pressed together, thin dress still swishing around your thighs from your movement. Maybe the expression was irritation, maybe it was shock, maybe it was hunger. 

“Mr. Miller,” You said, testing it in your mouth, unsure of what words would come next even as you spoke. You didn’t have an excuse. The title served as a propellant, something that burned fast and hot, sending Joel careening into you. He took one step over the threshold of the door, towering above you and then grabbed both your forearms and tugged you hard. Your immediate reaction was to try and put your arms up to push him back but he held you firm and gave you a little shake,

“I told you not to let me catch you wearing a dress again, little girl.” He said. You struggled with him for a second, trying to shake your forearms out of his grip, but it was no use and you didn’t really want to anyway. You stuttered for a second,

“I’m…I’m sorry, Mr. Miller,” The honeyed burn of that caused him to drag you over the threshold of his front door and slam it behind him. 

“You’re gunna be, darlin’” Joel dragged you through the entryway of the house and into the kitchen. He pushed you back into the counter, his body pressing into you again, his breath against your face. “You really think you can just be flirtin’ with me, tease me for weeks and then show up at my house in the middle of the night when I’ve been doin’ my damn best to avoid you?” 

You wanted to say you hadn’t meant to tease him, you hadn’t thought you were flirting, but thinking back on it, you had always gone out of your way to say hi. You had fluttered your eyelashes at him, and flipped your hair. Had you been that blatant? “N-no! I didn’t mean-” You started but you couldn’t even finish it. 

“You just a little slut, is that it?”Joel asked, his hands started to bunch up your dress around your hips. You gasped. No, you weren’t a slut, you hadn’t ever had sex. You hadn’t ever had a boyfriend. You hadn’t wanted to make any time for the boys in Jackson but you had been wanting Joel for a while. You tried to protest but again, the words died in your throat before they could come out because Joel was holding your dress bunched up in one hand while running a thick finger along the waistband of your underwear. “Is this what you’ve been wanting?” He breathed, his forehead was pressed into yours, you could feel his hot breath and his body pressing into yours. Yes, you did want it, but admitting that was admitting you had been acting this way specifically to get it.

“N-No!” You whined, pressing your back against the counter, trying to get away from his prying fingers but also desperately wanting it. “J-Joel!” You gasped as his hand pushed into your underwear, his fingers dipped into your slick folds, his middle finger slid up the seam of your pussy. When he reached the crest of your labia, his fingers seamlessly found your clit and tapped it, sending a spasm of pleasure through you. As quickly as he had shoved his hand into your underwear, he pulled it out, holding it up in front of your face to show off his fingers coated in your slick.

“Does this seem like no, to you, little darlin?” He asks, his voice sardonic. Your brow furrows as you look at your own juices coating his fingers. 

“Joel, I-I’ve never-” You whine and squirm where you’re standing, not sure how to say it, suddenly nervous this will all stop if you tell him. Joel reaches up with the hand that had so painfully briefly been touching your slit and cups your chin, surprisingly gentle,

“Never what, baby? Come on, spit it out, little girl.” His voice is husky, he leans in towards you, his nose pressing into the hollow of your cheek. 

“I’ve never been touched like…like that,” You manage to blurt out and Joel’s whole body seems to pause. For a moment you think he’s going to stop, he’s going to push you away and tell you to get lost, that you’re too young. But then the hand cupping your chin tightens and you feel his sharp, scratchy stubble against your cheek as he gives you a wet kiss there. He pulls back,

“Aint no one but me’s ever got the pleasure of touchin’ that pretty pussy?” he asks, there was a smile in his voice and you relax a little, he wasn’t about to shove you away. You shake your head slowly, looking up at him, your eyes meeting his. “Well, I should get proper acquainted with her then, shouldn’t I?” The words made everything in your body feel wobbly, like liquid sloshing around. His hands grab your hips and lift you backwards onto the counter. Joel shoves your knees apart and his fingers drag up your thigh towards your undies. You watch as his head tilts down to look between your bodies, his fingers moving to hook into the side of your underwear and pull them aside. Nerves make you try and clamp your legs shut and push him back, whining his name in protest at him looking at your naked sex. 

“Aw, sweetheart, I just want a little peek at her,” He convinces softly, you still whine but let his hands pry your thighs apart. His hand slips down your leg to your ankle and grabs it, pushing it back so your heel is pressed into the counter and your legs are splayed open, your body leaning back slightly. Your heart races, the idea of being exposed to his eyes is too much, you know you’re soaking through your underwear and now he can see that. Joel looks down over your undies and slowly lets go of your ankle, making sure you’ll keep it there. His pointer finger slides down your thigh to your undies, very carefully pulling them to the side, his eyes drinking up the view. “ohh, pretty girl,” he says. “You’re soakin’ for me, darlin.” He says, his eyes flick up to your face. Your whole face is red with embarrassment and desire. Joel brings his thumb up to his mouth, licks it and strokes your clit. Your breath catches in your throat, your heart hammers. All the times you had tried to touch yourself had never even come close to the way this felt. You let out a moan, your head falling back against your shoulders. 

Joel watches his thumb circle your clit, setting a steady, dizzying pace. “Good girl,” Joel said as you mewl out moans. Your body is blazing with pleasure, you can feel yourself dripping, you had never been wet like this before and it’s all because of his thumb softly circling around your clit, barely grazing it and then flicking over it in a mesmerizing pattern.  “Look at her,” Joel says with a short chuckle, “She keeps getting wetter.” His gaze fixed on your pussy and you let out a string of whines. 

Your orgasm is starting to build, you can feel it burning inside you, growing and pulsing, so close but not quite there yet.  Joel’s thumb strokes over your clit and your breath catches in your throat,

“You close, little darlin?” He asked, “I can see your cunt clenching on nothing….she needs something in her, doesn’t she?” You nod vigorously, unable to talk, unable to form a coherent thought. You didn’t care that you had never had anything inside of you, you needed his thick fingers. Your eyes open and look down at him, his face is tilted down, examining your sex, his grey peppered hair pushed back away from his face. His eyes move up to meet yours,

“Beg me for it, sweetheart.” he says, his eyes dark with lust. Your mouth falls open, your brow furrows and you shake your head, 

“C-can’t.” You whined, pressing your hips forward towards his finger as it continues its slow calculated pace of stroking your clit. 

“Yes you can, beg me to fill you up. Your poor, soaking pussy needs it, darlin. Come on, use those words I know you have.” He coaxed. You had never felt so filthy, you wanted to beg for his thick fingers in your virgin pussy but you couldn’t find the words, your brain was mush. “Beg.” he instructed. You whined, feeling like you were going insane and finally the words tumbled out of you,

“Please…please, please fill me up. Finger me, J-Joel. I need it in my pussy. Oh god, please, I’m soaking for it, she needs your fingers in her, please, Joel!” You babbled and whined as his thumb continued to stroked around and around your clit, occasionally swiping over it, bringing you closer and closer to that building orgasm. 

“Say, ‘please finger fuck me, Mr. Miller.’” He instructed, his middle finger notching itself at your entrance, not quite pushing in, just teasing your hole. 

“ughhhh!! Please! Please finger fuck me, Mr. Miller!” You moaned out, louder than you thought you were capable of. Joel let out a satisfied chuckle but instead of pushing that middle finger into your eager hole, his whole hand moved away from your throbbing sex. He delicately took the side of your undies and replaced them back over your swollen sex. 

“Wha- oh god…no! Joel!” You whined, pressing your hips forward, your cunt clenching on nothing. 

“Nuh-uh,” Joel said, looking over your face, smirking. “You spent weeks teasing me.”

“I didn’t know I was-” “Bullshit, little darlin’” Joel said. “‘Please, Mr. Miller can I please spend all my time at your house caring for the cute little lambs, bending over and dressin’ like a slut’” He mimicked you meanly and raised his eyebrow at you. “If you’re going to act like a naughty girl, I’m going to treat you like a naughty little girl.” He said, leaning down to be level with you. You stared at him, feeling like you might go completely crazy. You opened your mouth and then closed it again. Joel pressed his lips to yours in a soft, chaste kiss. When he pulled away he touched your nose, 

“Say ‘thank you, Mr. Miller.’” he insisted. 

“Thank you, Mr. Miller,” You mumbled, dazed. 

“Good girl, will you come check on the lambs tomorrow?” he asked, his eyes twinkling. “Ellie is on patrol all day.” Joel stroked his finger down the bridge of your nose. You gazed up into his eyes and nodded. 

“Yup, I really think sheep keeping is super interesting.” You said, still dazed and needy.

[gf2bellamy]

protective — aaron hotchner

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: hotch doesn't let you do your job because he's too worried content warnings: reader is sort of aware of hotch's feelings, bau surrounding unsubs house, reader is irritated

The team stood huddled near the black SUV, the air heavy with the weight of the situation. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the street.

The tension was palpable as Derek outlined the plan. 

“We’ll go in from the left,” Derek said, his voice calm as he nodded toward you, his eyes searching yours for confirmation. 

You shifted slightly, adjusting the weight of your vest as you nodded back, trying to push down the nervous energy thrumming in your veins. “Got it,” you replied, your tone firmer than you felt. 

Before you could fully process the plan, Hotch stepped forward. “No,” he interjected, his deep voice calm but resolute. “I’ll go with Derek.” 

The words hung in the air for a beat too long. His dark eyes met yours, unwavering. 

“Hotch—” you started to protest, but his sharp gaze silenced you. Not unkind, but firm.

He wasn’t giving you a choice. 

“This isn’t up for debate,” Hotch said, his tone softening slightly as he turned back to the group.

He began giving instructions, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “Reid, take the back exit with JJ.” 

The team dispersed quickly, each moving to their assigned positions with practiced precision. But as the group spread out, you remained rooted in place, realizing you’d been left without a specific task. 

Hotch finally turned toward you, his expression unreadable. “You’ll stay here,” he said simply, gesturing to the black SUV. “We need someone ready to coordinate backup if this goes south.” 

Your stomach twisted at his words. Stay outside? That was it? After everything—after proving yourself time and time again—you were sidelined? 

Your jaw tightened, frustration bubbling under the surface. You opened your mouth to argue but stopped yourself at the last second.

This wasn’t the time.

Not with the unsub barricaded in the house, the potential for danger at its peak.

“Yes, sir,” you said tersely, your voice clipped as you forced yourself to fall in line.

You didn’t miss the flicker of something in his eyes—was it guilt? Concern? Whatever it was, it was gone before you could figure it out. He gave you a small nod and turned back to join Derek. 

The others moved out, slipping into the shadows as they approached the house, leaving you standing next to the SUV with the bitter taste of frustration in your mouth.

You watched them go, your chest tightening as Hotch disappeared from view. 

You knew better than to second-guess him, especially in the field. But as you stood there, gripping your comms radio tightly, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d been benched for reasons that had nothing to do with strategy—and everything to do with Hotch’s unspoken worry. 

It was maddening. Yet, deep down, a part of you couldn’t entirely fault him for it.

Not when you knew the way he looked at you, how he couldn’t seem to keep the lines between personal and professional from blurring sometimes. 

Even now, as irritation simmered under your skin, you couldn’t ignore the subtle warmth creeping into your chest at the thought. 

Shaking your head, you forced the distraction away and focused on the radio, ears straining for updates. You couldn’t let yourself dwell on Hotch’s motives—not when the team was walking into the lion’s den. 

For now, you had a job to do. Even if it wasn’t the one you wanted. 

Hours later, the case was over. The unsub was in custody, and the adrenaline that had fueled you during the operation had long since burned out.

Now, you sat in the team’s jet, staring blankly out the window. 

A book rested in your lap, open to a page you hadn’t read a single word of.

Your thoughts circled back to Hotch’s orders from earlier, replaying his tone, his expression, his decision to sideline you. 

You sighed quietly, shifting in your seat, and let your eyes wander to the empty one in front of you. You’d intentionally picked a spot away from the others, hoping it would help ease the frustration still twisting in your chest. 

It didn’t. 

You tilted your head back against the seat, closing your eyes for a moment.

The sound of soft footsteps drew your attention. You opened your eyes to see Hotch making his way down the aisle. His gaze swept over the cabin before landing on you.

For a brief second, you considered pretending to be asleep, but the intensity in his eyes made it clear that wasn’t an option. 

He stopped next to your seat, his voice low enough not to draw the others’ attention. “Mind if I sit?” 

You hesitated, but only for a moment. With a small nod, you gestured to the empty seat across from you. 

Hotch lowered himself into the chair, his posture as straight and composed as ever, though his eyes held a flicker of something softer. He leaned slightly forward as he studied you. 

“You’ve been quiet,” he said finally, his tone careful, probing. 

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head as you closed the book and set it aside. “Didn’t think I had much to say,” you replied, the words laced with more bitterness than you intended. 

Hotch didn’t react, his expression remaining unreadable. “You’re upset about earlier,” he said plainly, cutting straight to the point. 

“Upset?” you repeated, meeting his gaze. “I was benched, Hotch. What do you think?” 

His jaw tightened slightly, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost gentle. “It wasn’t about your abilities.” 

“Then what was it about?” you pressed, leaning forward, unable to keep the frustration out of your tone. “Because it sure felt like I was being pushed aside for no good reason.” 

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face briefly before meeting your eyes again. “It was about risk. About keeping you safe.” 

You stared at him, his words sinking in like a stone dropping into a still pond. Part of you wanted to argue.

But another part—the part that couldn’t ignore the way his voice softened when he looked at you—understood. 

“Hotch,” you said, your voice quieter now, more measured. “I know you care about the team. About all of us. But you can’t make decisions like that—decisions that feel personal—on a case. It’s not fair. To me or to anyone else.” 

He looked down for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. When he looked back up, there was something raw in his eyes—something he rarely let show. 

“You’re right,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t fair. But that doesn’t mean I’d make a different choice.” 

The honesty in his words caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless. 

“I can’t separate how I feel about you from the job,” he continued, his gaze steady on yours. “And maybe that’s something we need to talk about. But not here.” 

Your breath caught in your throat. 

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the hum of the jet filling the silence. Finally, you nodded, your frustration giving way to something else entirely. 

“Okay,” you said softly, a small, tentative smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “We’ll talk.” 

Hotch gave a slight nod, a flicker of relief crossing his features before he stood.

As he walked back to his seat, you felt the weight in your chest begin to lift, replaced by a nervous anticipation that you weren’t sure how to process. 

[kouzih]

You're fucked.

Nam-gyu ( Player 124 ) x gn!reader .ᐟ

warnings : smut is all i'm gonna say . . ( cockwarming, unprotected sex, semi-public sex )

tags,, @gongyoosgf @cybrasigilism @paulilvsremus

requested by anon! idk what the word count is..

( sighs..why did this take so long to finish..no proofread tho.. )

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ The images on the big screen and some people pleading to release them said it all. You were wondering how people could be so stupid and still manage to get this far. As if seeing their pathetic and whiny ass wasn't enough, the person you were trying so hard not to see was here too. Even from his repulsive voice, you knew he was here. Technically he didn’t speak, it was just that his presence here made you uncomfortable the moment you heard him chuckling at the others.

You could tell by the way he looked around with his hair tucked behind his ear and how he enjoyed watching people embarrass themselves. Because that's how it was when you first started dating. He hadn't changed at all. The way he looks at people..how he puts his hands over his mouth..and that expression on his face when he sees someone familiar. You weren't sure if he saw you or not, your view was already limited and the number of people in front of you must have prevented you from being seen as well. After looking in your direction for a good minute, he crossed his arms and brought his eyes back to the big screen.

Oh, how you hated those looks of his. Realizing with your own eyes that he was here made your blood boil even more. You sighed, your situation here was about to become even more unbearable.

Some people had already split into groups before the games started, and you went to mingle with the crowd while praying you wouldn't see him. As you stare at people with your arms crossed, your eyes go to the sound of someone clicking their mouth. Your eyebrows furrow as you look indifferently at the person the voice is coming from. Nam-gyu, who was looking down at you with his head raised, had his hands lazily stuffed into his pockets and tilted his head slightly to the left, causing some of his hair to fall from his face. The tips of his lips curve upwards and lean slightly to the side. "Are you desperate enough to end up here?" "It's funny to think that you have the right to speak out because you're in the same situation." You throw the words back in his face without even letting him finish. He raises an eyebrow at you, giving you a judgmental look. But none of that applies to you; you already know what the fuck he is.

"Our little abstract's ego has never diminished, I see."

"This is coming from someone whose ego is bigger than his dick? Hah. Don't make me laugh."

"Shut the fuck up." You realized he was clenching his hand in anger, but you honestly didn't care. Talking to the being in front of you not only got on your nerves but also gave you a headache. You didn’t miss his voice one bit. As you search your eyes for people who seems at least better than others, you realize he's taking a stubborn breath. "What? Didn't you asked me nicely to shut up?" You could have sworn he rolled his eyes on impulse. That thing he always did when he was so done.

The tension in the atmosphere was starting to bother you, so you took a step forward, passing Nam-gyu and the other people. You were so unlucky because everyone you tried to talk to was either a complete moron or a snob. As the games started, they were pulling everyone to a different area. An area where there was a giant doll and everything else was completely..empty, the top was open and a scorching heat was hitting your face. A man who you hadn't noticed before stepped forward and shouted something about the danger of the game and how you would be eliminated. Even though you couldn't hear what he was saying very well, you chose to stay in the middle rows. The front and back could be dangerous.

When the giant doll standing at the end of the platform turned her head and started talking, you understood what the game was at that moment. The man who spoke earlier, player 456, is trying to guide the others in the front and that catches your attention, and you listen to him even though you would do your own thing. You knew that when the it was red light, you had to stay still. You stood a little to the side, making sure there was no one in front of you or behind you. Suddenly you heard a screaming coming from the front and the sound of a body hitting the ground. You witnessed people around you screaming and trying to run towards the back, even though it made you flinch, you didn't move an inch. You see everyone lining up as the man shoutsz, deciding that it's something you can't handle on your own, you join them.

You freeze when a familiar touch caresses your back.

"We met again, huh.."

"Are you thirsty for death?"

"I could eliminate you right here, right now, if I wanted to."

Your voice stopped when Nam-gyu said that. He chuckled as if he heard you swallow. As soon as you reached the end of the line, he pushed you away. He ran after you, causing the sand splashing on you. He nearly made you fall to the ground but you managed to keep your balance. You snapped at him loudly. "Hey! What was this for??" "Dunno, being a spoiled brat?" What did he imply by saying this? You guys already broke up and he was still deciding what you could and could not do..You noticed his fingertips tracing the corner of his lip, he didn't say anything else as he looked at you sideways. You'd like to talk about it, but not until you see the time is up.

As they lead everyone back into the room you were in before, your eyes searched his body. You weren’t going to forget what he did right away, he should have realized that what he did was childish but it was also something that put your life at risk. You took a step towards him when you noticed where he was,but it seemed like he had already found someone to hang out with before he went inside. You chose to let it go so as not to be stubborn any longer. "Ugh..man."

Ohh, great. As if it wasn't enough to make a lot of people suffer, now they make you to vote too.. To stay or leave here. If possible, you would prefer to stay here. It seemed more logical to you to leave with a larger sum of money. Until your ex appeared in front of you. The person you assumed was his friend behind him left to talk to others, while Nam-gyu clears his throat. You bite your cheek and glance at him, not really understanding why he came. He started talking to you, His voice was monotonous yet threatening. "You're gonna vote 'O', alright?" "Excuse me?" He approached you while sucking his teeth, supporting his waist with one hand. "You're gonna press 'O', otherwise.." He waited for you to confront him as his eyes took on a darker look. But you chose not to answer him, you knew he would only get angrier that way. "You're fucked." His voice was quieter, but you knew exactly why he spoke like that. He was trying to make you feel small underneath him.

When it was time to vote, you were actually both nervous and excited. Even if he hadn't come and threatened you, you would have still chosen to stay, but you had a strange feeling inside you. When you see that the path in front of you is empty and everyone is waiting for you to walk, you gulp unnoticed and walk towards the buttons. As your hand moves towards the tip of the buttons, your head slowly turns towards where your ex is.

You notice him making a circular motion with his hand as he smiles at you with his eyes. As Nam-gyu signals for you to press the button, your head turns back to the lights in front of you and you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

No. It doesn't feel right to press 'O'.

Especially after he came.

Your hand suddenly presses the button with the red light, and after waiting for the pink soldiers, you move to your side. Your eyes involuntarily turn to him. The moment your eyes met, it made you flinch. You frowned and shook your head slightly, trying to get your hair out of your face. You knew this wouldn't end well, but you weren't about to just do what he said. You were sure that they would be the side that won the vote. Why would people who are so greedy for money choose to go? And just as you thought, they were the winners. You followed your own path as you watched everyone take their places, but the sound of footsteps getting faster and louder stopped you in the middle of the room. With a curse under his breath, you were pushed roughly against the nearest bed rail, Nam-gyu practically hissing at you as he narrowed his eyes at you. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" His hands around your neck made it hard to breathe, and when you try to move your head, he causes you to hit the metal behind you again. He looks down on you, dragging you under him. "You better talk before I fuck your brains out."

You had nothing to say to him, it was your decision anyway. When he sees a few people gathering around you, he takes his grip off you. "Fucking brat.." His voice was a whisper loud enough for you to hear it. You started to caress your neck, brushing your hair back with one hand as you cleared your throat. Before you can stand up and start walking, you hear a few people asking you if you're okay. "Yeah, I'm fine." You walked slowly to your bed as you followed his path to his own bed. You have to wait until everyone is asleep or when people are too busy to care about what you're doing.

And finally you get an environment where everyone is quiet. You slowly get up from your bed and tiptoe towards Nam-gyu's bed. The lights in the middle of the room were gently hitting your face, making your presence known, but when you looked from afar, he didn't look awake. You slowly got up onto his bed and covered your mouth with one hand, pressing one knee to the edge of the bed and started to climb onto him without making a sound.

Nam-gyu threw his head to the side, mouth slightly open and he let his hair fall onto the pillow. You weren't quite sure what to do exactly, but your eyes wandered to his bare neck. You swallowed, slowly bringing your hand closer to his face. You held on tightly to avoid making a sound when his lips suddenly curled upwards and grabbed your wrist, covering your mouth. 'Cause of his grip, your face fell towards his chest, your knees touching his waist. When you try to lift your head you feel his hands holding the back of your hair, pulling your head tightly he forces you to look at him. His voice was a heavy whisper. "And what were you exactly planning to do, huh?" All you could see in the darkness was his toothy grin and his eyes that looked like they were going to eat you alive. You tried to say something with your muffled voice, but his grip almost covered your nose too. You placed your hand on the sheets to balance yourself, your neck was in a very uncomfortable position and Nam-gyu wasn’t about to release you.

Seeing your helpless state, Nam-gyu's smile widens, a small giggle is heard from him. He lets go of your wrist until he's in a sitting position on the bed, not taking his eyes off you as he sucks on his teeth. "What? Did you suddenly become so shy?" You forget that his hand is still over your mouth as you shake your head to the side, and he grunts as if he’s thinking as he silently watches the sounds you make against his hand. He uses his free hand to pat his lap, your eyes darting to the side to make sure no one is watching but he suddenly pulls you into his lap. "You were always this stubborn..You don't know how to obey when someone tells you to do something." He throws his head to the side and speaks hoarsely, watching your hands fall to your sides as he adjusts your position.

You could pretty much guess how this was going to end.

You remained silent for a while, waiting for him to pull his hand away. He slowly pulls his hand away, smirking with his eyes. You let out a warm breath as Nam-gyu pulls his hand away, he watches you swallow as he wipes his went hand over your clothes. "..I knew I shouldn't have come." "Is that so?" His hands slid down to your hips, his grip tightening with each second. "Yeah." It was clear from your voice how you felt about him. He pulled you closer to him as your hands followed his fingers. "You are so damn annoying." "So are you?" "At least I'm not a spoiled brat." He could tell by your face that you were nervous, but sitting on his lap was making your body warmer.

"I fucking hate you." You hissed at him, letting out a shaky breath. Moving might not be a good idea, you were making enough contact with the tent beneath you. "Our feelings are mutual." He presses you tighter against him, making a moan escape your lips. "But your body seems to love me." His eyes met yours for a second. His ego was way too high right now. "Still." His thumbs lift your cardigan up, revealing your bare skin. He stops at the hem of your sweatpants, dragging his nails over your skin. You feel yourself squirm under his touch, his hands stopping you as you find yourself lifting yourself up. "You always care about your own pleasure, bitch." He pushes you towards his legs, making his own position more comfortable. He opens his legs slightly, revealing the wet spot created by his tent. He taps his leg against you while gesturing with his eyes for you to take off your sweatpants. Before you could open your mouth to refuse, his hands grab your sides and lower them. You squeal at the sudden hit of cold air on your skin, he grabs your back and pulls you closer to him. "I'll be the only one enjoying this night, not you." You could see the precum on the tip of his cock as he used his leg to lift you up a little and lower his down.

Before you can prepare yourself, his hands are on your waist and he lifts you up, placing you on the tip of his cock. "Wait-" "Shush." "But-" "Fucking hell." His voice was loud enough to shut you up. You had already taken him in without even realizing it. As your hands reach out to grab him, he stops you by grabbing your wrists with one hand, keeping you in place with the other hand by holding your wrists in the air. You begin to feel your body shaking, his hand moving from your waist down to your belly as you resist moving yourself. You bite your lip as his thumb presses against your belly. You shouldn't make a sound. As you digs his nail more into your skin, you tilt your head down, causing your hair to fall out. A few purring moans escape your mouth as your hands tremble in the air. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, and it was obvious he was enjoying it. His eyes don't leave your body as a few breathless moans leaves his lips.

All he did was hold you in place as you cursed at him under your breath so you could move. "What, you didn't like your punishment?" When you heard the word punishment, your body involuntarily began to squeeze him even tighter. He whistled lowly and brought his face closer, feeling his breath next to your ear causing you to lift your head slightly.

"Your voice is so fucking annoying..god, wish I could make you lose your voice."

His voice was muffled and sounded like he was holding himself back. When he doesn’t get an answer from you, he throws your wrists aside and forces you to look at his face with his grip. "Cat got your tongue? Or are you embarrassed that the person you hate is fucking you?" "S-shut..up.." You want to speak to him through your teeth, but his grip prevents you from doing so. When you feel his hips start to move, you quickly bring both of your hands towards your mouth. You wouldn't want anyone to see this, do you? He releases his grip on you and moves one hand to the sheets next to him, so as not to lose his position. When he starts to move, tears start to flow from your eyes, and because you weren't prepared, the pain overwhelms the pleasure. You feel your body shaking as your face falls slightly towards his shoulder. You realize that your body is trying to follow his rhythm, even if it's unintentional. As his rhythm quickens, the sound of your skin hitting each other starts to get louder, and even though the feeling of embarrassment didn’t make your body any hotter, doing it with him made you angry at yourself.

Tears were now starting to flow down your cheeks, Nam-gyu noticing that his shoulder was starting to get wet, placed his hand behind your head again to pull your head up. "I'm not your boyfriend whose shoulder you can cry on anymore." You find yourself suffocating as you swallow, your eyes refusing to stay open and you’d have already lost your balance if it wasn't for his grip.

As the press continued to roll, his insults at you continued, about what a whore you were and how you didn’t even deserve his dick. "No one deserves your body, you fucking know that?" You couldn't decide if what he said was jealousy or anger, your only concern was not passing out. He didn't slow down at all, even though your face was covered in sweat and you couldn't fix your breath. You could feel him finishing inside you but he didn't seem to stop. His grip was moving down to your neck as you were trying to pull yourself together. "If I had lost my temper so easily, you wouldn't be here right now." Your eyes are tightly closed and your mouth is half open as you follow his rhythm while your legs try to support you. "T-that's enough..ah- didn't you finish already..?" "Not enough to satisfy myself." You swallowed hard after feeling another orgasm inside you, you tried to lift yourself up thinking he would stop, you opened your eyes slightly, trying to look at his face. He was biting the corner of his lip lightly while his hair was stuck to his face and cheeks. He paused for a moment and slightly opened the front of his cardigan. When he looked at you with that smirknon his face, you wanted to cry with anger.

"You're not going anywhere unless I'm fucking satisfied."

"..Fuck you."

"You'll have to save that for next time."

[deliciousangelfestival]

Change of Heart - 2 | Bucky

Character: Bucky x Female! Reader

Theme: Angst, tragedy, romance.

Summary: The interviewer asked her a provocative question:

“If you were offered a million dollars, would you leave your partner?”

Without hesitation, she replied with a smirk, “Give me one dollar, and I’ll leave him this second.”

True to her word, she walked away, leaving the man stunned and searching for answers. Now, he’s desperately trying to find her, grappling with the haunting question—why would she leave him so easily?

And is there more to her departure than a single dollar could ever explain?

Part 1 , Part 2 , -

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

“Fine,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. He knew there was no point in pushing further. Grace was like a fortress, guarding whatever secrets you had entrusted her with. Talking to her felt futile, like arguing with a wall that refused to crack.

“I won’t press you for more answers,” he said, his voice softening, though the tension lingered in his tone. “At least tell me this—is she in trouble? Is someone trying to hurt her or threaten her?” His jaw tightened as he spoke, his concern leaking through despite his best effort to remain composed.

Grace hesitated before answering. “No,” she replied firmly, her gaze unwavering.

A part of Bucky felt a wave of relief at her reassurance. If Grace said you weren’t in danger, then maybe you were safe. But another part of him sank deeper into confusion and sadness. For two years, you had been his constant, his safe harbor.

You weren’t just his wife on paper; you had been someone he could rely on, someone who listened to him without judgment. Now, the thought that you might be facing something he had overlooked made him feel hollow.

Had he missed something? Overlooked a sign? The thought gnawed at him as he stood there in silence. You had always been a good listener, absorbing his worries and frustrations like a sponge. Better than any therapist he’d ever paid for. In fact, since marrying you, he had stopped going to therapy altogether.

But then it hit him. You’d rarely opened up about your own life. He couldn’t even recall the last time you shared anything personal. Was that his failure? Not listening to you when you needed him most? His chest tightened with guilt as he realized that the contract, which was supposed to ensure mutual understanding, might have become a barrier instead of a bridge.

Before he could say anything else, his phone buzzed, breaking his train of thought. He glanced at the screen and saw the agency’s number.

“Mr. Barnes, it’s about the arrangement,” the voice on the other end said.

“What is it?” His tone was curt, impatient.

“Your wife has decided not to renew the contract.”

He gritted his teeth. “I know that already.”

“Yes, sir,” the voice continued, cautiously. “But she also returned the money you gave her.”

Bucky froze, his grip on the phone tightening. “What?”

“She left it with us. I’m sorry for the way this unfolded, Mr. Barnes. If you have time, we’d like to meet and discuss this in person.”

He clenched his jaw. “I’ll think about it.”

“Understood. One more thing—Miss L/N left a message. She wanted you to know that she’s sorry.”

Bucky ended the call without a word. His mind was racing, a cacophony of thoughts and emotions he couldn’t untangle.

As he turned to leave, Grace finally broke her silence. “She told me to tell you not to look for her,” she said, her voice low but resolute.

Her words landed like a punch to his gut. He turned back to face her, his expression a mixture of disbelief and sorrow. His fists clenched at his sides, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything.

“Don’t look for her,” Grace repeated, softer this time, as if trying to ease the blow.

Bucky’s lips parted, but no words came out. He swallowed hard, his throat tight. Without another word, he turned and walked away, her parting message crushing him with every step.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The matchmaking agency didn’t have an official name. To the outside world, it appeared to be an upscale wedding organizer. But beneath the surface, it operated a discreet business, catering to an elite clientele. The agency specialized in PR, celebrity pairings, and finding partners for those seeking unconventional marriages.

To join this matchmaking service, clients paid exorbitant fees, a cost justified by the agency’s ironclad guarantee of success and confidentiality. This exclusivity made it accessible only to the wealthiest 1%. For most clients, love wasn’t a priority. Many were too jaded, too broken, or simply unwilling to risk their hearts again, yet they craved the semblance of companionship.

Companionship didn’t necessarily mean intimacy. Some sought emotional connections without physical ties, while others wanted a blend of friendship and trust. In essence, the agency sold what its clients desired most: a reliable partner tailored to their needs.

That’s where Bucky came in. He wasn’t looking for love. He needed someone he could trust, someone who fit seamlessly into his life. You had checked every box. You charmed his parents and, more importantly, his grandfather—a critical seal of approval.

Now, Bucky sat in the CEO’s office of the agency, his jaw set and his posture rigid. The room was sleek and modern, dominated by a white sofa where both of them sat. He accepted the black tea she offered but barely touched it.

The CEO, a sharp-eyed woman in her late forties, sat across from him, her demeanor professional but empathetic. She had started this agency after her own marriage fell apart. Betrayed by her husband’s infidelity and weary of meaningless dates, she realized she wasn’t alone. Many shared her frustration with traditional relationships. That realization had birthed her unique matchmaking business.

She leaned forward slightly, her expression neutral but observant. “Thank you for making time to meet with me, Mr. Barnes,” she began.

Bucky’s voice was clipped. “Do you know what she did?”

“Yes,” the CEO replied calmly. “She came here yesterday and asked me to give you these.” She placed two envelopes on the table between them.

“This one contains the check for the money she received. She’s returning it to you. The other is a letter she wanted you to have.”

Bucky’s gaze dropped to the envelopes. They were unassuming, just thin paper, yet they felt heavier than the multimillion-dollar contracts he signed daily. He hesitated, his fingers brushing over the edges. Despite his composed exterior, uncertainty gnawed at him.

“Would you like me to open them for you?” the CEO asked gently.

“No, thank you.” His voice was firm, though his hand trembled slightly as he picked up the envelopes.

Slowly, he opened the first one. Inside was a check for the exact amount you’d received when signing the contract—$2 million for two years.

His chest tightened. So that damn $1 was enough to make you leave? Why?

Didn’t you say the money was meant to help you break free from your parents’ control? You wanted to save it to open a café, to buy a boat, to carve out a life of your own.

With a deep breath, he opened the second envelope. This was the one you had specifically instructed to be given to him. He unfolded the paper, hoping for answers, for clarity.

Instead, there was only one sentence:

“It’s not you. It’s me.”

Bucky scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. His grip on the paper tightened as his jaw clenched. What kind of joke is this? Of all people, he never thought he’d be the one on the receiving end of such a cliché. And didn’t everyone know? The person who said those words was usually the one placing blame.

So it is me. I’m the reason you left.

He pressed a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes as the weight of realization settled over him. He thought back to the countless times you’d listened to him, your quiet understanding, your patience. Had he ever done the same for you? Had he missed the signs that you were unhappy?

He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Did you see her face yesterday?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

“Yes,” the CEO replied, her expression unreadable.

“What did you see? Was she sad? Angry? Happy?”

The CEO took a moment before answering. “I sensed relief when she handed me the check.”

Bucky’s shoulders tensed, his chest constricting at her words. Relief? Was that all you felt after two years together?

“But,” she continued, her voice softening, “when she gave me the letter for you, I saw regret in her eyes.”

Bucky froze, those five words—I saw regret in her eyes—hitting him like a punch to the gut. He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the letter still clutched in his hand.

If you regretted it, why did you leave? Why didn’t you say anything? Was it really so unbearable to stay?

His thoughts spiraled as he sat there, motionless, staring at the remnants of what he thought was a stable arrangement. The unanswered questions twisted in his mind, leaving a hollow ache in their wake.

“Forgive my frankness, Mr. Barnes,” the CEO began, her tone professional yet slightly playful. “Since you’re officially single now, would you like me to add you back to the list?”

Bucky’s eyes darkened, and his jaw tightened as he leveled a cold glare at her. “Marriage is the last thing on my mind.”

The CEO nodded, her smile faint and understanding. “Of course. I apologize for asking.”

Bucky stood, adjusting his suit jacket with deliberate movements, signaling the end of the conversation. He turned to leave, but the CEO rose to her feet and extended her hand toward him.

“It’s been a privilege having you as our client, Mr. Barnes,” she said with a polite smile. “I hope our paths cross again.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he regarded her. After a brief hesitation, he reached out and shook her hand, his grip firm but curt. “This is the last time I’ll be here.”

Her smile didn’t falter, remaining calm and composed. “Safe travels, Mr. Barnes. And thank you for using our services.”

Bucky released her hand without another word, his expression unreadable as he turned on his heel and strode toward the exit. His footsteps echoed in the quiet, elegant office, a stark reminder that this chapter of his life was closing for good.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Bucky slid into the backseat of his car, running a hand through his hair in frustration. The driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror, hesitant but professional. “Where to, Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky exhaled sharply, leaning back against the seat. “To Grandpa’s house.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the car wove through the streets, Bucky stared out the window, lost in thought. His mind wandered to his grandfather, Paul—stubborn, sharp-tongued, and annoyingly perceptive. He wondered if the old man already knew you had left or if he was still blissfully unaware.

Ever since you met his family, you’d formed an immediate bond with Paul. The connection between you two had been almost effortless. You once told Bucky that, having never known your own grandparents, you’d always yearned for an elder figure in your life.

For Paul, who often clashed with Bucky during their 20-minute tolerance window, you were a revelation. You brought out a side of him Bucky rarely saw—a livelier, softer version of the strict, commanding patriarch. Paul saw in you the granddaughter he’d always wished for: someone who called him, visited him, and actually listened to his long-winded stories.

Yet even that bond hadn’t been enough to make you stay.

When the car pulled up to the grand estate, Bucky stepped out and made his way inside, his movements tense and deliberate. He headed toward Paul’s study, where the old man often spent his afternoons.

Pushing open the door, he paused. Paul sat in his wheelchair by the fireplace, glasses perched on his nose, reading a letter. The firelight cast warm hues across the room, highlighting the lined face of a man who had lived through decades of triumphs and disappointments.

Before Bucky could announce his presence, Paul’s voice broke the silence.

“She left, didn’t she?” The elder’s tone was heavy, filled with resignation. He crumpled the letter in his hands and tossed it into the flames, watching as it curled into ash.

Bucky froze, guilt knotting in his chest. “She… she said goodbye to you?”

Paul didn’t look up. “And about the agency.”

Bucky’s stomach dropped. His mind raced, scrambling for an explanation. Did Grandpa know everything?

“Grandpa, I can explain—”

“Shut up, you stupid boy!” Paul snapped, his voice rising with a force that belied his age. His hand moved to his chest as if to steady himself. “You fooled me twice, Bucky. Twice! First, you made me believe your marriage was real. Then, you made me believe I finally had a granddaughter.”

Bucky instinctively stepped closer, his hand resting gently on Paul’s shoulder, his other moving to massage the elder’s chest. “I’m sorry, Grandpa. I—”

Paul shook him off, his eyes blazing with disappointment. “And don’t get me started on that ridiculous matchmaking agency. It’s absurd! What happened to normal relationships? Real love?”

Bucky swallowed hard, his throat dry.

Paul’s voice cracked, the anger giving way to heartbreak. “You broke this old man’s heart, Bucky. I thought… I thought I could finally go in peace, knowing you had a wife. A good girl by your side. But now…”

He saw it with his own eyes—that Bucky and you were a perfect match. Turns out, it was all a lie. It broke him.

“Tell me,” Paul said, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation, “does she mean anything to you? Or was it just a contract?”

Bucky hesitated, the weight of the question pressing down on him. He opened his mouth but no words came out.

Paul’s eyes narrowed, his disappointment deepening. “You know what? She was right to leave you for a single dollar.”

The words hit Bucky like a slap. His fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening. Everyone seemed to blame him for your departure—Grace, the agency, and now his own grandfather. What did I do that was so wrong?

He finally snapped. “If she didn’t mean anything to me, would I have walked out of a $100 billion meeting to go ask where she is?”

It hurt even more because he had lost his best friend. A wife was just a word to him, but a best friend? Yes. Yes, you were. You meant a lot to him, and to his grandfather as well. And you just left without a proper goodbye, as if he didn’t deserve one. He needed answers.

He even skipped a meeting worth billions of dollars. For him to miss it means you are worth more than billions to him.

Paul’s eyes widened, his expression shifting from anger to realization.

“Then what are you doing here?” Paul barked, his voice regaining its edge. “Go find her!”

Bucky stood, stunned into silence.

“Don’t come back until you’ve found her!” Paul continued, pointing toward the door. “And forget about the company. It can survive without you. She’s the one you need to fix this with.”

Bucky nodded stiffly, his expression a mix of determination and frustration. Without another word, he turned and strode out of the study, leaving Paul alone by the fire.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

As Bucky stepped out of his grandfather’s house, the weight of the conversation still hanging over him, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration before answering.

"Sir," came the voice of his head of security.

Bucky sighed, exhaustion creeping into his bones. "Tell me at least some good news," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

"We found her."

The words hit him like a jolt of electricity. His pulse quickened, and for the first time in what felt like ages, a flicker of hope lit in his chest.

Bucky straightened up, his posture shifting from defeat to determination. "Where is she?" His voice was sharper now, his body leaning forward, eager for any hint of where you might be.

This was the news he’d been waiting for, the answer he desperately needed.

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[weepingtalecowboy]

Wererabbit legend

Fanfic prompt:

the bunny legend twist is really funny

And considering how both the twilight curse and the darkness induced curse in link to the past work differently

The twilight curse turns you into your most innermost animal (in the case of link and people consider that it has something to do with the triforce that makes link different ) or just straight up turns you into a ghost (like literally the rest of all hyrule)

But considering that the curse found in the dark world specifically says that it is a reflection of your heart and therefore already works differently than the twilight curse as you can be a monstrosity with no real limits other than how Messed up you are

Wouldn’t it be beyond messed up when legend picked up the twilight shard but his innocent rabbit appearance just didn’t happen

Because it just triggered his dark curse

Like for all he says he finds it annoying it probably would hurt a lot more to realize that this soft vulnerable part of him doesn’t reflect who he is

At least not anymore

The curse in link to the past can turn you into a monstrous beast more often than not

Like that must hurt to end up a dangerous jaded beast

the messed up rabbit equivalent of one because the appearance of a predatory rabbit in many media signifies the loss of innocence as it twists into pure violence against what hurt them once

(Interestingly enough a white rabbit with red eyes is usually the symbol for it or one who wears a rabbit skull on its head instead of a face )

So let him be a little nightmare and hate himself as he takes the form of a monstrosity once more (fucked up were rabbit legend my beloved)

And like that would essentially be a feedback loop for him because the more he hates how he looks the more it would reflect on the outside

The worse it will get for legend because he hates even more how he looks

And it shows again

Being a bitter, snarky very confrontational lil guy… legend probably would dial up the self destructiveness pretty fast even if he is fighting not to be a monstrosity (feedback loop my beloved would work against him every step of the way)

Meanwhile twilight has to watch in horror as legend turns into a snarling creature thing and runs off full monster mode

Like twilight just turned around and the first thing he sees is a…”thing” that probably is legend

Then legend freaked the hell out and ran into the woods in fear of what he just turned into

And twilight realized that being a wolf of rather average size is not something to complain over

So Wolfie chase it is

And when he gets to him it only seems to get worse because this is going into melted eldritch horror territory by this point

...and he still has the ability to talk like a person and is being self deprecating about it

Legend be like : “I am such a monstrosity …”

Twilight: “no no it’s alright”

Legend : “I miss my uncle”

Twilight: “oh, that’s deeper than I wanna go”

And also they probably have to get the chain not to shoot at him or else it probably would get even worse than it already is

Or get sky… but for that he needs to drag legend out the cave he crawled in and leave him unsupervised

And it very much isn’t going great in the slightest already

[seasaltrasp]

Cigarettes

a cho sang woo fic | post-squidgame au

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

inspired by this cas song + a dream i had

1.5k words, dbf!cho sang woo x f!reader

warnings: age gap, smoking, mentions of lighters

note: first time writing a fic ! i genuinely could not explain to you what this is, happy reading <3

⋆ ⋆ ---––——––------––——––------––——––--- ⋆ ⋆

The night wrapped itself around the house like a thick velvet blanket, cool and heavy, muffling the world outside. The warmth from inside spilled out in golden streams through the windows, making the dark feel even more intimate, more distant. The house stood like an oasis in the midst of the night, quiet but alive with the weight of the evening’s conversation.

Inside, the table had been cleared, the dishes stacked in the sink with care. The remnants of dinner lingering in the air—a warm hum of laughter, the soft clink of silverware against porcelain. He had come for dinner, a guest of my father, the man whose sharp wit and quiet intelligence had filled the room, a surprising contrast to the heavy weight he carried in his eyes.

Cho Sang Woo, my father’s business partner, was a man in his forties who seemed older than the years that clung to him. But when my father suggested he stay the night—too late to drive, too long a distance—he didn’t hesitate. “Stay in the guest room,” my father had said, waving a hand as if it were nothing, and so he did.

He had lingered on the couch, nursing his scotch, his hands resting on the edge of the glass like he was trying to find an anchor in a storm. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was only half-present, as though his mind was on an island somewhere far away.

When my parents retired to bed, he excused himself, saying he needed some air. It was a statement that didn’t quite ask for permission, but there was something about the way he spoke it—so softly, yet so firmly—that made it clear he didn’t need to explain himself.

I watched as he stepped outside, his form slipping into the night like a shadow, leaving me to the quiet lull of the house. I rinsed the dishes slowly, my thoughts lingering on the man who seemed to be running from something, his every movement weighed with invisible regret. When I finished, I stepped out onto the porch, the wood beneath my feet creaking in the stillness.

The air was cold and sweet, tinged with the scent of damp earth from the garden.

He was sitting on the steps leading up to the house, a shadow among shadows. He had come outside to escape something inside him. His figure was relaxed, almost languid, but there was a tension in him that I couldn’t quite place, a rigidity beneath the surface that suggested a history deeper than I could understand, but he masked it with the ease of someone used to playing a role.

I didn’t know what haunted him, but I could feel it in the way his gaze occasionally dipped into the distance, as if looking for something that no longer existed.

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, fingers almost caressing the smooth cardboard, before cursing softly under his breath when he realized he’d forgotten his lighter. I almost smiled at how perfectly human the moment felt—despite everything, he was still just a man, fumbling for something as ordinary as a flame.

I lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching the way he exhaled in frustration. Then, as if on cue, he turned his head slightly, sensing me before I even made a sound.

“Got a lighter?”

His voice was low, amused, but with that edge of tiredness I was beginning to recognize.

Without a word, I reached into the pocket of my jacket, feeling the cool metal of my lighter against my fingers. When I pulled it out, it was an object of pure contrast to him. My lighter was small, almost dainty, a delicate pink glimmering thing that would have looked absurd in his calloused, heavy hands.

It flew through the air, almost weightless, and he caught it with the reflexes of someone who was used to playing more dangerous games than catch.

He stared at the lighter, as though trying to figure out its very existence. His brow furrowed, and then, he slowly lifted his gaze to mine.

“This… is your lighter?” he asked, a note of disbelief in his voice, but more so amusement.

I held his gaze, my lips twitching, and in a voice that felt more like a dare than a simple answer, I murmured, “It’s for birthday candles,” the ghost of a smile flitting across my lips. The words tasted like a lie wrapped in a joke.

For a moment, the tension in the air seemed to dissipate, and I could almost see the corner of his mouth twitch. His lips pressed into a hard line, fighting a smile. But it didn’t come. Instead, he shut his eyes with a long exhale, a weary chuckle escaping him as he nodded slightly, as though accepting that this ridiculous object was now the truth of the moment. “Right,” he muttered.

There was something about the way he fidgeted with the lighter—fingers circling it, almost testing its weight—that made the space between us feel impossibly intimate. Without a word, I slid onto the step opposite him, settling a foot’s distance away, my body angled just enough toward him to catch every small detail. The way he inhaled, the slight easing of his shoulders, the way his square rimmed glasses reflected the glow of the cigarette as he took his first drag. He looked, for a moment, like he had finally found the stillness he was searching for.

“You don’t smoke,” he said, not with curiosity, but with the knowing air of someone who was used to reading people like books.

“I do not,” I said, my voice soft, but deliberate.

A thought flickered through me, a quiet, reckless impulse. I glanced at the pack of cigarettes resting beside him. “Today’s as good a day as any,” I said, my fingers already stretching toward the box.

His eyes shifted to me, sharp and quick, and his hand immediately shot out, placing a finger on the pack, sliding it just out of reach with a quiet tut. His gaze met mine, his smile tight, a warning hidden behind the casual gesture.

I couldn’t help but give him a soft pout. My bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly, a playful protest hanging between us like a suspended breath. His gaze snapped away quicker than lightning, fixating on the trail of glistening pebbles leading towards the house. His eyes shifted down to his shoes, then to the blades of grass fluttering in the breeze, and then up at the stars, as if the world around him had suddenly become infinitely more interesting than me.

There was a strange hesitation in the air, like I’d caught him off guard, but I held my ground, watching the way he carefully avoided my gaze. The silence stretched, and something shifted in the way the night felt around us.

Reaching into the other pocket of my jacket, I pulled out my own pack of cigarettes, the plastic wrapper crinkling softly under my fingers. I could feel the beginnings of a grin forming, but I bit it back, my focus entirely on the subtle task at hand.

When he looked back at me, his eyes widened for the briefest moment, a slight chuckle escaping him as he almost choked on the smoke that had been hanging in his mouth. It slipped from his lips in violent tendrils, twisting and scattering through the air, as if his breath itself was suddenly off-kilter.

I watched him carefully, a flutter in my chest, as I picked up my lighter and flicked it open with a soft click. The flame danced to life, casting a glow on my face that seems to give me a depth he’d never seen before. It was almost too intimate, the way the light shifted and shaped my features.

I held the cigarette between my fingers, the tip glowing bright, and without glancing at him, I exhaled a steady stream of smoke into the air, inhaling it back in with the practiced precision of someone who’d done this far too many times. The words slipped out before I could stop them, low and soft, like a secret I couldn’t quite keep to myself.

“Surprised?”

He didn’t answer right away. The smoke curled between us, swirling in the cool night air as I watched the horizon, city lights shimmering in the distance.

Then, finally, he exhaled, his breath a soft laugh, but it was quiet, almost reverent.

“I should have known.”

[eelliotss]

— A Curse Between Us

Bound by a curse and centuries of longing, he scours the universe to reclaim the woman who once shared his soul, only to find her fractured by forgotten memories and a life that no longer includes him. As he fights to reignite their bond, you emerge—a black box of secrets and power capable of shattering the fragile balance of his kingdom and plan, a new variable that alters the balance of his life.

“I was supposed to be the last of us,” he breathed.

Will she always be his fate, or will your introduction into the picture tip in balance of his destiny?

⚠️ : Spoilers to Sylus’ myth. PS. reader is not MC, and in this story, Sylus is still a dragon!

The story of Sylus and MC, Milena Cross, was a tapestry woven from threads of love, survival, and shared memories. Their connection had been fierce and all-consuming, a bond forged in the crucible of struggle and sealed by a curse. That curse—an ancient, desperate act she had cast upon him before his life was extinguished by the injuries he had sustained trying to free her from the greed and cruelty of men—ensured their fates were irrevocably intertwined.

When Sylus opened his eyes again, flashes of their love, fragments of shared laughter and pain, and the echoes of her voice came flooding back like shards of light piercing a darkened room. Half of his soul still resided with her, tethering him to her existence. With this realization came an unyielding obsession: he would find her, no matter the cost.

He scoured the universe in a ceaseless hunt, toppling regimes, invading planets, and ripping through galaxies like a force of nature. Prisons could not hold him; armies could not stop him. His path was littered with destruction, each step bringing him closer to her. Finally, his journey led him to Earth—to the underbelly of human civilization, the N109 Zone. Here, amidst the corruption and chaos, he found her. His other half.

To ensure her safety, Sylus claimed the N109 Zone as his domain, establishing himself as its unrivaled ruler. If he was the danger, none could threaten her. From the shadows, he watched her every movement, biding his time, crafting the perfect moment to reintroduce himself. He envisioned a reunion as fiery and intense as the bond they once shared.

But before Sylus could act, she came to him. Yet, the moment he looked into her eyes, his heart fractured. She didn’t remember him. The love, the curse, the fragments of his soul that tied them together—she had forgotten it all. Worse, she despised him, her hatred a searing wound deeper than the sword that had once pierced his flesh.

He tried to reignite her memories, to remind her of who they were, but every effort only pushed her further away. The realization that she no longer knew him—no longer loved him—was a torment he couldn’t escape. And so, he resigned himself to wait, as he always had, enduring the agony of her absence even while she was near.

During her presence in the N109 Zone, she struck a deal with him: his assistance in gaining entry to an exclusive auction in exchange for something she had that he wanted: to resonate with him. Sylus agreed. After all, he would stop at no means to bring the world to his woman’s feet if that is what she wanted.

At the auction, he left her to attend to his business as soon as they entered the auction house. “Have fun,” he said with a smirk, handing her his card. “Act as good bait.” While she navigated the opulent chaos of the auction, Sylus was escorted to a private room by the staff. As he trailed, a nagging feeling of unease prickled at his senses, a faint presence trailing him like a shadow. When the door opened, he found himself in a room overflowing with treasures—jewels, gold, protocores, weapons. His eyes swept across the hoard, but his gaze snagged on a single figure standing amidst the wealth.

You were studying a pendant, your fingers brushing its surface as if trying to decode its secrets. Your black dress clung to your figure, flaring out elegantly at your feet. Silver and gemstones adorned you, shimmering like frost under the dim light, but it was you who outshone everything in the room.

Sylus felt a flicker of irritation. Your presence was unwelcome, but she wasn’t his concern—at least, not until he recognized her aura. Dismissing her, he turned his attention to his target. “Hello, Thomas,” he greeted smoothly, his voice a low purr. “I think you know what I’m here for.”

Despite Thomas’ resistance, Sylus was able to handle his business quickly. With his objective achieved, Sylus was ready to leave, but the stranger caught his attention once more. Something about her presence unsettled him. He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized her.

Then he saw them—your eyes. Midnight, ancient, brimming with power.

A chill ran through him, a primal instinct gripping his core. His sharp eyes narrowed, scanning her not just with his gaze but with something deeper—an ancient sense that stirred within him. There was something about her aura, a pressure that pressed against his chest, not suffocating but undeniable. It was the kind of power that couldn’t be disguised or dulled, no matter how much silver and silk adorned her.

“You’re…” His voice faltered, the single word caught between disbelief and awe as he took a step closer. It was then that he saw it, unmistakable now—a flicker of fire dancing in your midnight eyes, a glint of something ancient and untamed that no mortal could ever possess. The air around you seemed to ripple, almost as if the space itself was bending to your presence.

The realization hit him like a thunderclap. You weren’t just powerful—you were like him.

A dragon.

His breath caught. It was impossible. Dragons were supposed to be gone, their kind reduced to myth, memory, and him. And yet, standing before him was undeniable proof that he was not the last.

“I was supposed to be the last of us,” he breathed, the words heavy with a mix of wonder and dread. But as he spoke, the corner of your lips quirked up—not in kindness, but in a knowing, almost amused challenge. The room felt smaller now, charged with an energy he hadn’t felt in centuries, and in that moment, Sylus knew the balance of power had shifted.

This was no mere encounter. It was a collision of forces that would change everything.

The revelation was a shock to his core. Dragons were supposed to be extinct, or so he had believed. Yet here you were, standing in front of him, radiating strength. That strength set him on edge, and he dropped into a defensive stance, his instincts roaring to life.

You, for your part, remained calm. You had no interest in a fight, at least not here. Your presence at the auction was merely business—on behalf of your father, the second-most powerful ruler of the N109 Zone. Few had ever seen you, and fewer still knew the extent of your abilities. But Sylus was no fool, and he could feel the weight of your power like a storm brewing on the horizon.

The room crackled with tension as the two dragons faced each other, their fates unknowingly beginning to intertwine.

Note: I gave MC a name because it just felt so weird simply calling a character mc. I want to make this a series, and hope you enjoy the plot as much as I do!

[sinnabarmoth]

Feeling Better

Pairing: Xavier x Fem|Reader

Prompt: Mini fic of Reader being a soft!dom with the lads. (Not necessarily sexual, just sweet 'let me take care of you' vibes. But this one is a little sexual.)

Content warnings: Handjob.

Word count: 1k

Links to the other lads: (Rafayel) (Sylus) (Zayne)

When Xavier came back from his mission you were over the moon. He had been gone for an entire week in a dangerous area fighting Wanderers. But now he was back! You had decided to go pick him up from the airport and treat him to hotpot. It wasn’t until you saw him that you realized that he had kept something major from you when he said he was coming home.

“Hey, thanks for coming to pick me up--”

“Why in the world is your arm in a sling?” you asked. “What happened?”

“Oh…I fractured it while fighting Wanderers. But it’s okay. The doctor said I’ll be fine in no time.”

“And how long is no time?”

“Four to six weeks…” he said sheepishly.

“Xavier! Oh my god, why didn’t you tell me you broke your arm?”

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

“So what? You were just going to hide it for a month and a half? I’m your girlfriend, you’re supposed to tell me these things.” you sighed. Careful to mind his arm you wrapped your arms around his neck and hugged him tight. “I’m glad you’re home and you’re safe. But now I have to change my welcome home plans.”

“You don’t need to--”

“I don’t see how I’m going to be able to tie you up if your arm is in a sling. Although…I guess that is a kind of restraint. Nevermind. Best not to test it. Let’s just go get hotpot.”

“Tie me up?” his face went red. “I can’t believe you just said that in the middle of the airport.”

“I’ve said worse in public before and you know it.” you grabbed his suitcase and looped your arm around his waist. “Let’s get going. I’m starving and I know you have to be too.”

After hotpot you returned home. You grabbed the dirty clothes out of his luggage and threw them in the laundry. He told you that you didn’t need to unpack his stuff but you were being insistent. “Let me dote on you. I haven’t seen you in a week and you’re injured. Let me take care of you, okay?”

His face started turning red again. “Okay. Whatever you want.”

“Good boy.” you kissed his cheek.

You passed the evening watching movies but as evening fell it became increasingly obvious how limited Xavier was with his broken arm. That became obvious when he said he wanted to take a shower. The hospital had given him a waterproof sleeve to put over his cast but that still basically left him one arm short. It also wasn’t helping with getting undressed.

“Are you going to keep struggling in here or are you going to admit you need my help?” you cocked your head at him from the bathroom doorway.

He sighed, his shirt stuck halfway off him. “Yes, please.”

“Was that so hard?” you went over and helped yank the shirt up over his head. “Seriously, how’d you even get dressed if getting undressed is this hard?”

“I don’t know--hey! What are you doing?” he flummoxed as you started pulling his pants down.

“Helping you undress, remember?”

“I can do that part myself.”

“I don’t see what you’re getting so worked up about. It’s not like I’ve never seen you naked before.” you giggled. “But I do like seeing you flustered. It’s so cute.”

“I--” he stepped out of his pants and turned on the shower. You rolled your eyes and started disrobing too. “What are you doing now?”

“I was thinking I was going to shower with you, help get you clean since you’re one arm short.” you said, stepping in next to him. “Why? Something wrong?”

“I just…” he glanced down. Between your bodies Xavier’s dick was already at half-mast. “You mentioned tying me up earlier and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. But then you said we weren’t going to do anything cause my arm was broken so I was just planning on coming in here and getting rid of it myself.”

“Oh Xavier,” you turned his face to yours and kissed him. “Just because I can’t tie you up doesn’t mean we can’t do other things. I said I was going to take care of you today, remember?”

You gently took him in your hand, stroking your hand up and down and fondling his balls until he was rock hard. You pressed him against the shower wall so he had some support. He panted as you worked him over, his free hand grabbing you tightly by the hip.

“You worked so hard all week and then got badly injured. You deserve to be taken care of today and every day.” you pulled him down closer to kiss him. “Just relax and let me take care of you, baby. Can you do that? Can you do that for me?”

“Yes.” his brow furrowed as he tried to fight off coming too soon. “I’ll repay your actions, I promise.”

“I know you will, Xavier. But don’t think about that right now.” you pumped him faster. His moans grew louder until he was bucking into your hand. “Just feel good. I want you to be so good for me and come. Go on, I know you want to. Come for me.”

“I--I--” his head tipped back, exposing his pale throat to you. You kissed up his neck, pressing your body against his like you knew he enjoyed. You bit down on his chest and his cock twitched in your grasp as he came with a long moan. You kept pumping him until every drop had been emptied and his legs trembled to support his weight.

“Oh my sweet boy, you were really pent up, huh?” you grinned. “Feel better?”

“Yeah…” he took in deep breaths. “Much better.”

“Good. Cause we still need to get you cleaned up. Take your time to catch your breath, I’ll grab the shampoo.” you turned to grab the shampoo but Xavier kept a hold of you. “Something wrong?”

“Stay close a little longer.” he said, pulling you towards him. “Please.”

“Of course.” you hugged him, the spray of the water raining down on both of you as you simply embraced. “I love you, you know that right?”

“I love you too.” he said. “I’m glad you’re here to help me. In the past I had to deal with this stuff on my own so having a helping hand is nice.”

“I’ll always be here when you need me, Xavier.” you kissed the bite mark on his chest. “No matter what it is you need me for, I’ll be here.”

[starlit-writer]

in sickness and in health, ch. 2 - alpha!simon riley x omega!reader

here is chapter two!!!! in writing this chapter, i realized that this little fic has taken on a complete life of its own that i never anticipated, and will have many, many more chapters to come, so if you want to be added to a tag list to make sure you stay up-to-date, let me know in the replies! eat well, lovelies <3

as always, if you want to understand more about my omegaverse au, you can look at my masterpost here, and it'll help explain all of the intricacies that may or may not be explained well enough in these short-form fics!

word count: 4,270 chapter one masterlist ao3 link

You slept. And you slept. And you slept.

But, Simon held tight to his promise to you. He didn’t leave your side for any longer than necessary, and necessary held a very… loose definition to Simon as you laid on his bed, all but comatose. In the three days since you had shown up at his door, Simon had left the bed maybe five times to relieve himself, and a handful of other times just to growl somebody away from the door who had missed the memo that Simon and you would be out of commission for the foreseeable future. The rest of the time, he just laid next to you, curled up like a guard dog. Sometimes he talked to you, but most of the time, he was just watching your chest as it rose up and down, his fingers resting delicately over your wrist to ensure your heart was still beating. That you were still here.

It had been three days. And you still hadn’t woken up. The worry in Simon’s heart was becoming hard to keep down, and the neglect of his own body was starting to catch up with him. He hadn’t done any work, hadn’t showered, and had barely eaten the food that the team had left at the door. He was going insane with panic, with fear, at the thought that he lost you. That he had killed you.

He never knew what he had had until it was gone.

Simon was spiraling. He sat in the corner of the bed, making sure to keep his thigh pressed against you, but his head was in his hands as his fingers tugged relentlessly at his dirty blond strands. It was his fault. All of this was. He didn’t know how to be a good alpha, let alone any sort of partner that he knew you needed him to be. He was so completely lost in his own tortured mind that he didn’t even hear Soap as he slipped into the room.

It wasn’t until the tray full of food that Soap was carrying clattered to the ground that Simon even noticed he was in there. Simon’s head snapped up, his hackles rising as a vicious growl ripped through his throat. The sound was a clear warning to get the fuck away from him and his mate, but all Soap did was roll his eyes in complete exasperation and take a step closer to your sleeping form.

Simon’s growl intensified at the intrusion, his muscles rippling in preparation to fight. It didn’t matter that this was Johnny, one of the few people on this earth that Simon trusted wholeheartedly. His mate was dying, and Simon’s alpha was tearing itself apart, identifying anything and anyone that got too close to you as a threat. But, the other alpha ignored him. The only sign that Simon got that Soap even heard his posturing was the low, return growl that left Soap’s lips as they curled up to reveal his alpha fangs.

“Haud yer wheesht,” Soap grumbled in reply as his hand came up to rest on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing gently over the joint. Soap’s focus was entirely on you, completely ignoring the massive bulk of Simon just on the other side of you. Soap and you had always been friends, and you had sought comfort in him over the last few months of Simon’s neglect. Guilt gnawed at him that he wasn’t enough, that he couldn’t help prevent the bond sickness from stealing you away, but that guilt was far overshadowed by the rage he felt towards Simon.

“How could ye ever do this to ‘er, huh?” Soap muttered, the words low and dangerous as he finally glanced up at Simon. “She was good. More tha’ good. She was a great fuckin’ medic, better teammate, and now look at ‘er.”

Simon’s alpha growled in response. He knew he had fucked up, destroyed you in ways he was only beginning to comprehend. He would take you yelling at him, telling him how shit he was, but hearing it from Soap, another alpha, was a whole new level of shame and guilt. Simon wasn’t built to hold this much emotion, never taught how to properly deal with his feelings, and he was at his breaking point. His rage was rising, like water that had been left on the stove too long without proper supervision, the bubbles breaking free over the steely confines of the walls he had built around his heart.

The very same confines that had kept him from you.

Simon’s eyes zeroed in on Soap’s hand on your shoulder, and he lost it. He scrambled off of the bed, his movements uncoordinated due to the lack of sleep and sustenance, but still full of the undeniable power that lived within the massive bulk of the alpha. He slapped Soap’s hand away, and grabbed at the straps of his tactical vest. Simon picked the smaller alpha up and spun to press him against the wall, Soap’s head cracking off the drywall. But, it wasn’t enough. Simon hated himself. Hated Soap. Hated everything that he could even remotely tie in as a factor to your comatose state on his bed. Simon gnashed his teeth in Soap’s face, pure, unbridled alpha rage pouring off of him.

Soap just smirked, completely unfazed.

“Oh, I see. Now you can be all protective over ‘er when she’s dying, aye? When it’s yer fuckin’ fault that she wasted away like this? You should’ve been better!” Soap was close to yelling now, his own hands coming up to Simon’s throat. Soap wasn’t going to kill him, no, the only thing that that would accomplish right now is causing more harm to you. But, dammit, if he wasn’t close.

Soap squeezed at Simon’s throat, his alpha claws digging into the mating bite on the side of the larger alpha’s throat. “I should rip that fuckin’ bite right off of ye, ye know that right?”

Simon roared, jerking his neck around to get Soap’s claws as far away as possible from the scent gland that held the imprint of your smaller omega fangs - the last thing truly tying him to you. He was far too gone with his rage, his alpha bursting against the confines of his skin, to even begin to formulate a response. All he could see was the red-hot haze of his rage, of his grief, the anguish that had settled so permanently into his bones over the last three days.

Soap grinned, a mean, sadistic thing that did little more than show off his alpha fangs. It was a challenge, an expression eerily similar to what a predator does when defending their territory. But you were not Soap’s territory. He knew that. He wasn’t trying to vye for your affection or to stake claim on you. His goal was single-minded: get Simon pissed enough to finally admit that he needs you, that he’ll fight for you, for your health, and that he’ll never abandon you this way again.

And if he wouldn’t? Well, Soap wasn’t looking for an omega of his own. Mainly just saw you as a constant in his life, in his pack, but he would single-handedly rip out that mating bite that glared, swollen and red from the strain of the bond, on the edge of Simon’s throat with his own claws and claim you as his own, if it meant fixing you, giving you some sort of stability.

“Ye did this to ‘er! Yer neglect, yer fuckin’ issues, made ‘er this way! All because your head was so far up your goddamned arse you couldn’t see it! She deserves better! She deserves an alpha who will take care of ‘er, not someone who will abandon her for months on end in hopes of getting blown to pieces!”

“I know!” Simon roared in response as he lifted Soap away from the wall again and slammed him back into it. “I know!” His grip on Soap started to falter as tears welled up in his eyes. He let go of Soap with one hand, the smaller alpha falling back to his feet on the ground as Simon scraped his hand across his face to prevent the tears from falling.

“I… I just… I don’t know how to do this, Johnny. It’s not like I grew up with a…” Simon trailed off, his voice thick with tears and regret as he completely let go of Soap to run his hands through his hair in anguish. “My father was an awful man. A horrendous example of an alpha. He… the things he did, Johnny, to me, to Tommy, to my poor fuckin’ mum… the only promise I made to myself when I left that place and let it burn to the ground was to never be like him. And that meant keeping myself as far away from any omega as I possibly could. I never wanted this! And then the brass gave that ultimatum, and shoved us together, and… and I sure as shit wasn’t gonna be the reason that she got kicked out of the place that she worked tooth and nail to get to! I didn’t know how to be an alpha! I didn’t know how to protect her, and I had no one to ask! I just… I… I just didn’t know…”

Soap stood against the wall, mouth agape as he looked down at the massive, trembling form of the man he considered his best friend. Somewhere in his monologue, Simon had completely collapsed onto his knees, his head back in his hands, but Soap was too busy listening to the raw, honest truth falling from Simon’s tear-stained lips to even begin to try and guess when it had happened. Soap was in shock. But, he was at even more of a loss at how to comfort the other alpha.

Soap crouched down beside Simon, his hand awkwardly, yet gently, patting his shoulder as Simon’s hulking form shook from the force of his silent tears, his agony. Soap sighed as he rubbed his other hand over the back of his own neck. What the fuck had he gotten himself into?

“Ghost, I… I think you need to go talk to Price. Maybe get in with the base therapist.”

Simon stiffened under Soap’s touch as those words left his mouth. He didn’t want to go talk to Price, even if he was his captain and a part of his pack. He didn’t want to have to admit to his failures to the same person who gave him orders, signed off on his paychecks. And a therapist? Yeah, he talked to a therapist, he’d just about be signing off on his own discharge forms.

Soap felt it. How his words affected Simon. He sighed again, a low rumble reverberating from his chest in an attempt to provide some comfort to the larger alpha. It was normally a move reserved for comforting a pup, or a distressed omega, but Soap was truly at a loss of what to do here. He had never seen Simon break down like this.

“Ghost, Price can help. He’s been with his bonnie lass for years, and they’re happy with pups runnin’ ‘round. Just… you can’t keep doin’ this to ‘er. And if that means you need direction, need to see how to be an alpha… at least talk to Price. She deserves an alpha who can be there for her, at the very least.”

Simon nodded slowly, wiping his hand across his face again. He felt weak, like a failure, but he knew he had to try.

You never knew what you had until it was gone.

Yeah, well, he knew now. And he wasn’t ever going to let it go again.

Simon lifted his head, his watery brown eyes meeting Soap’s determined baby blues. There was still anger in Soap’s eyes, but he was shoving it away. No point in kicking his friend while he was already down.

“I… I can’t just leave her here.”

“I’ll stay with her,” came Soap’s immediate response. You had sought solace in him over the last few months, and as another alpha from your pack, you would probably be the most comfortable with him around, even if your alpha was gone.

Hearing Soap’s immediate reply made something in Ghost’s alpha twist with distress, aching at the idea of another alpha taking care of his omega, even if it was another member of his pack. A low growl born of his alpha’s displeasure of the situation rumbled out of his throat for a moment before he quickly cut it off by clearing it. Simon knew this needed to be done, and sooner rather than later. He had to fix his ways, to see what it meant to truly be the type of alpha that you needed, that you deserved. But, before he agreed, he had to know one thing.

“Do you love her?”

Soap froze, his head rearing back slightly in shock. Did he love you? “What?”

“You heard me. Do you love her?”

“Simon, she’s a part of our pack. She always has been, even before you and her mated. So, yes, I love her, but not… not like that.”

Simon nodded slowly, his joints aching as he stood up to his full height again. Everything hurt. His muscles were sore from lack of movement, sleep, and nutrition, and his heart and soul felt as if they had been ripped to shreds. Your end of the bond felt like it had been shrouded in impenetrable inky blackness, which just made him feel even more empty. Gods, it used to annoy him to no end to feel your neverending presence in his mind, but now he would give anything, his own life, just to feel it again.

Soap breathed out a silent sigh of relief as he saw the acceptance in Simon’s nod. His best friend was going to be okay, both of you would be. He had to believe it. And, in classic Soap fashion, he couldn’t help but try to chip away the sour, somber mood in the room by cracking a joke.

“But, ye fuck it up again, and I really will rip that mating bite right out of ye, ye can bet on tha’.”

Simon glared at him, but it was the first bit of normalcy he had felt in… months. He shoved at Soap’s shoulder, but all it did was make the smaller alpha’s cocky smirk widen.

“Fuck off, Johnny,” Simon mumbled half-heartedly as he pulled off the tank top he had slipped on after you had fallen asleep, and he tucked it gently next to your head to ensure you still had his scent while he was gone. He ran a gentle, almost reverent finger down your cheek, smoothing an errant piece of your hair back behind your ear. He sighed softly, his guilt threatening to break free again, but he quickly stepped back from you and tugged on a sweatshirt. He glanced at Soap, his gaze glinting with a possessive protectiveness.

Soap, knowing exactly what was running through his mind, put his hands up in a placating manner.

“I won’ touch ‘er. Just don’ be gone too long, aye?”

Simon grumbled something under his breath but nodded, grabbing his keys and shoving them in his pocket before he opened the door. He paused in the open doorway with one last, longing glance back at you filled with all of the pain and regret and guilt swirling through his veins before he finally stepped through and shut the door behind him with a soft click.

—

He didn’t want to be here. To be doing this but he would, if it meant fixing you. He stood in front of Price’s office door, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he tried to muster up enough courage to knock. The light was on, so Simon knew Price was in there. Hopefully he was just doing paperwork, and not anything… else.

Simon sighed loudly, scraping a hand down his face before he shook out his arms. He just needed to open the door. And, you know, pour his heart and soul out to the Captain, but that would come after. However, he didn’t get the chance.

“You gonna stand out there all day or are you comin’ in?”

Shit. Simon squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as he took a deep breath. He could do this. For you, he could. He had to. He shouldered open the door, but he kept his gaze on the ratty red carpet of Captain Price’s office. Mmm, low-pile. Probably feel really scratchy on his face when Price inevitably-

“Ah, Simon. I’ve been expecting you.”

Fuck. Simon felt untethered, for lack of a better word. He couldn’t get a read on Price’s expression as the older, greying alpha moved his glasses off of the bridge of his nose and carefully folded the arms in to set them on the giant wooden desk in front of him. Simon made a point to keep his gaze away from the gouged out claw marks on the surface of the desk. Simon swallowed thickly and looked back down at the carpet in front of him. He had never had to ask for help before, at least, not like this. Not anything that meant showing his weakness, his losing hand, the fact that he’s a shit ass alpha.

“Uh, yeah. I… um, sir, I need… help.” Gods, kill him now.

“Yeah,” Price breathed out harshly as he stretched his arms back around his head. “Yeah, I’d say you do.”

Simon winced at Price’s words. He sounded like a disappointed father, or, at least, what Simon imagined a disappointed father would sound like, and he felt like he had been brought into the principal’s office after painting graffiti on the side of the building during recess. He finally brought his gaze up to the older Alpha, taking a deep breath before he spoke.

“Captain, listen, I-”

Price cut him off with a raise of his hand as he stood up. Simon watched with wide eyes as Price grabbed a cigar out of the humidor that had always laid on his desk. Price grabbed his lighter, and placed the cigar between his lips before he turned away from Simon and looked out the window in the back of his office. A few moments later, and Simon heard the shink of the lighter catching, and he watched as a thick plume of dark grey smoke rose above Price’s form.

“You should’ve come to me for help sooner.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Price questioned, looking back at Simon over his shoulder.

“You’ve been running for years, Simon. Even before she came into the picture. And I let you. I shouldn’t have, but I kept hoping you would figure it out. And then, well, you didn’t. And then I watched you continue to close yourself off, to keep your distance. I watched as you brushed her off over, and over, and over again. And, I admit, as the pack leader, I should have stepped in. Should have forced you to stay on base and figure your shit out, but, tactically, it would’ve been a mistake to keep you here. So, we’re here now. What’s happened has happened. How are you going to fix it?”

Simon stood there, slack jawed and wide eyed as Captain John Price just essentially ripped down every single one of his defenses, his excuses, in one fell swoop. He wrung his hands in front of him, feeling exactly like he had been flayed open, all of his weaknesses and failures laid out in the open like intestines.

“I… I don’t know. That’s why I came here. I was looking for… pointers, I guess. Of how to be a better alpha- fuck, how to just be a good alpha. How to treat an omega. I wasn’t ever… I didn’t have good role models for that shit, and I just- well, Johnny said-”

“Will you actually listen?”

“What?”

Price took a deep inhale of the thick, grey smoke and held it as he turned to look at Simon face-on, studying Simon’s shaking form, the wild, lost look in his eyes, before he exhaled. Price kept his face schooled in a neutral expression, but he really did feel for Simon. He had once been a lost alpha like him, confused on how to even begin to take on the responsibility of an omega, how to take care of them. “If we have this conversation, will you actually take what I say into consideration? Or are you going to attempt for a few days, get frustrated, and then give up?”

Simon winced as Price continued to lay into him with that same cold, calculating gaze he used when discussing potential battle plans. Simon sighed softly, letting his head fall back to stare at the ceiling for a moment before he rolled his shoulders and looked at Price. “I have to fix this.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

Price grinned around his cigar and sat back down at the desk, his fingers tracing idly over the claw marks in the surface of the wood. He gestured his arm out, inviting Simon to sit across from him. Simon squeezed into the chair, his large bulk making the chair creak in protest. He leaned back, trying to feign a confident, or at the very least, unaffected air, but all of his thoughts just kept coming back to you, his knee bouncing in a very distracting fashion as he fought every urge to just run back to his quarters, just to check on you.

Price smirked and steepled his hands in front of him, resting his chin on his thumbs. “You’re scared, ain’t ya?”

Simon nodded, biting down on his plush lower lip.

“Good. Means ya care. You’re just shit at showing it.”

Simon’s lips pressed into a thin line, but what could he do? He couldn’t protest the truth. He was already flayed open, might as well attempt to dissect and treat the diseased portions where he has been keeping all of his shit coping mechanisms.

“Did you ever court her?” Price asked, watching Simon skeptically. He could guess at the answer, as the relationship between you and Simon was far from traditional.

“No, I… Price, the brass gave us an ultimatum, you know that. I didn’t have time!”

“Not before, you didn’t, but what about after? You still could have courted her. Maybe then you would’ve trusted each other more, and we wouldn’t all be in this situation. Do you even know her favorite food? Flower? Song to dance to at 3 am in the kitchen? Color?”

With each question, Simon sank further and further into himself. He felt like the worst alpha on the planet. And, honestly, he probably was, or else you wouldn’t be still laying in his bed practically comatose.

Captain Price sighed and rubbed his thumb over the deep-set lines in his forehead. “Alright, well, those are good places to start, I guess, but… being an alpha isn’t all about gift giving and protecting. You have to listen to her. And I don’t just mean the words out of her mouth - although those are still very important - I also mean her pheromones. Her body language. Her microexpressions. All of the things she doesn’t say.”

“What!? How am I-”

Price put his hand up again to stop the tirade that he knew was about to come pouring out of Simon. “You pay attention. That’s it. It ain’t rocket science, Simon. You’ve led how many teams through how many missions? I’m sure you can figure out if one omega prefers dark or milk chocolate.”

Simon sighed loudly, the sound trailing off into a growl. He felt so stupid. He had been too focused on himself, on his own trauma and his own issues that he had completely neglected the bare minimum for you. He had so much to make up for. He slammed his forehead down into the desk in frustration, the force making the pens on the desk jump. “I should’ve just allowed the brass to kick me out. At least then she could’ve been forced to mate someone who could actually provide for her.”

Price shrugged, leaning back in his own chair as he puffed on his cigar. “No point in thinkin’ like that. You guys are mates, and that bond stayed together for a lot longer than I ever thought it would. That means somethin’, you know. So, you’ve really only got one option. You’ve gotta fix it. Listen to her. Pay attention. Make her feel cared for.”

Simon nodded, his forehead still pressed against the cold wood of the desk, but something Price said kept sticking in his brain, ruminating like a dog trying to lick peanut butter off of the roof of its mouth.

“That means something?” Simon asked, looking up at Price, skeptically looking for clarification.

Price just grinned and pretended to zip his mouth shut before waving Simon off. “Go back to your girl. If you still haven’t figured it out in a few weeks, come talk to me. But remember, court her. Especially after all of this. Show her you care. That you can be a good alpha.”

Simon furrowed his brow, not thrilled about not getting an answer about what Price meant, but got up from his seat. He had been dismissed, and all he wanted to do was get back to you.

Courting. Courting. Right. He could do that. Right?

tag list: @kerst666 @misscaller06 @letaliabane @sai-int @itsmeamysworld @massivescissorsthingperson

[techhiz]

May I request a TFP Ratchet x femme cybertronian reader with Ratchet being protective.

-🦝 anon

Worried Rambles.

Ratchet was not one to mince words, especially when it came to safety. The war had taken so much from all of them—Cybertron, their comrades, their sense of peace—and he was determined not to lose anyone else. Particularly not you.

It wasn’t a secret among the Autobots that Ratchet had a soft spot for you. His stern lectures and sharp remarks softened in your presence, his touch gentler when tending to your wounds. Though he never admitted it outright, it was clear to anyone paying attention that his feelings ran deeper than mere camaraderie.

And so, when you disobeyed his direct order to stay behind during the latest skirmish, Ratchet was furious.

The Decepticons had launched a surprise attack on a nearby energy facility. Optimus had called for immediate backup, but Ratchet, ever the pragmatic one, had insisted you stay behind to assist him at the base.

"You're not a front-liner," he had said firmly, his optics narrowing as he spoke. "We need your skills here, not out there where it's dangerous."

But the idea of staying behind while your comrades risked their lives didn’t sit right with you. Against your better judgment—and his orders—you joined the battle.

Everything had been going fine until a stray blast from Starscream’s null ray struck you square in the chest. The force of the hit sent you crashing into a pile of debris, your systems sparking and your vision flickering as you struggled to stay conscious.

By the time the Autobots returned to the base, Ratchet was already waiting, his optics scanning each one of them for injuries.

"Where's Y/N?" he demanded, his voice sharp with worry.

Optimus, silent but understanding, motioned toward the medbay.

Ratchet stormed in, his optics widening as he saw you propped up on a berth, your frame battered and scorched.

"Y/N!" he exclaimed, his voice a mix of relief and frustration. "What in Primus' name were you thinking?!"

You winced as Ratchet began to run scans on your injuries, his servos moving with practiced efficiency but a noticeable tremor in his touch.

"I told you to stay behind," he started, his voice rising with every word. "Do you have any idea how reckless that was? How easily you could have—"

He cut himself off, his optics narrowing as he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

"You don’t think," he continued, his tone softer but no less intense, "about how much this affects the rest of us—about how much this affects me!"

"Ratchet, I’m—" you began, but he didn’t let you finish.

"No! You don’t get to apologize and brush this off like it’s nothing. I can’t—won’t—keep fixing you up after you throw yourself into danger like that. Do you know how close you were to..."

His voice broke slightly, and he averted his optics, his servos clenching into fists.

"I can’t lose you," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I... I love you, Y/N."

The words hung in the air, heavy and unintentional. Ratchet didn’t even seem to realize what he’d said, too caught up in his tirade to notice the stunned expression on your face.

"Do you even understand how important you are? Not just to the team, but to me? You can't keep—"

You reached out, grabbing his faceplates and pulling him into a kiss mid-sentence.

Ratchet froze, his optics wide with surprise, but he didn’t pull away. Slowly, his servos came up to rest on your shoulders, his tension melting as he leaned into the kiss.

When you finally pulled back, his optics searched yours, his expression a mix of confusion and vulnerability.

"Y/N..." he started, but you silenced him with a soft smile.

"I love you too," you said simply, your voice steady despite the pain in your frame.

Ratchet sighed, his shoulders slumping as he finally allowed himself to relax.

"You’re impossible," he muttered, though there was no anger in his tone.

"And you’re overprotective," you teased gently.

"I have every reason to be," he retorted, his optics narrowing playfully. "Especially now."

He placed a servo against your cheek, his touch warm and reassuring. "But if you ever scare me like that again, I swear..."

"You’ll what? Lecture me to death?"

He huffed, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Don’t tempt me."

From that day on, Ratchet’s protectiveness didn’t lessen, but it took on a new form. He trusted you to make your own decisions, though he made it clear that he expected you to be careful.

And while you still found yourself in the thick of danger from time to time, you always knew that Ratchet would be there to patch you up—and to remind you, in his own gruff way, just how much you meant to him.

Because no matter how chaotic the war became, one thing remained constant: his love for you.